I'm tired of the quiet. Tired of the sound of my own footsteps and the sound of flies buzzing near half eaten carcasses and freshly dropped dung.

I don't remember the last time I heard a voice. Cries yes, whimpers in the dark. But a conversation, a real god damned conversation. Just two people talking, shooting the breeze.

I close my eyes and try to bring back the memories. Was it back in Vancouver, maybe down in Seattle? How long ago was it when I heard another voice?

Kicking out my foot, I deliberately boot the door in front of me. When the wood doesn't budge and pain shoots up my leg, I scream out ... "Fuck."

But that doesn't count.