The Dangers of Smoking in Bed

by Mariana Enriquez

Sometimes I think the crazies aren’t people, they’re not real. They’re like incarnations of the city’s madness, like escape valves.

accumulando rabia”—Rage

She didn’t even inform them that she’d stopped going to therapy and was just taking the pills; she had nothing more to talk about or dig up, she just wanted that vaguely distant, chemically induced state that disconnected her but still let her live a little. Less and less, but enough.

she didn’t know if he was alive or dead and she would prefer either possibility, either of them, to this suspended life of waiting for him for a year now.