Success isn’t a Feeling: Mallory
The drive home was a battle of sensory management. I blasted the heat in my Subaru, despite that it was already warm out. I gripped the steering wheel so hard that my knuckles were turning white. I needed the moisture to vanish from my skin, but I also needed the hum in my blood to quiet down. Standard atmospheric interference. I repeated the phrase like a mantra as I pulled into the driveway. The house looked different today. Usually, the white stucco and sharp, architectural angles felt like s symbol of stability. Now, it was just a cold, unyielding, perfectly symmetrical monolith. I checked my reflection in the visor mirror one last time. My hair was a disaster of salt-crusted waves, but under the dimming afternoon light, maybe it would look like a bad hair day in a high humidity
- Writer
