I’m not sure what I feel when the Strip colors just one line. It’s not relief, but it’s not happiness either. Mechanically, I throw everything away and wash my hands, staring at myself in the mirror. I let my eyes slide over my features that soon become not so familiar. My reflection shows my eyes are surrounded by black paint, and my face is stained with strange symbols that seem to be painted with sooth and splashes of blood. The lips are chapped and bitten and within the blue hues of my eyes, I see something I don’t recognize. When I lean in, closer to the mirror, the image suddenly vanishes and I’m left with my almost flawless face and a bit too tired eyes and dark circles from my over-over-caffeinated self.
When I look around, the image of the bathroom suddenly seems to shift to a d
