XXIV. Waves.

The little martian stumbles and fumbles blurrily out of my bed and bumbling onto the carpeted floor.

He reheats an old cup of coffee and stares out dazedly at the world.

“What wrong?” I ask him

“Which one are we on this time?” He asks me

“Which what?”

“Which wave?”

I try my best to remember and close my eyes when it hurts my head to think.

Between the fever dreams and bleary daylight, I've lost count.

“I can’t -“

“You can’t remember.”