Static Warning

The lights above me

started to stutter,

a cheap, dying pulse.

And that smell,

reheated fish, old coffee,

just enough.

My scalp goes cold then,

a prickle,

like tiny electric ants

crawling,

telling me something

is about to break.

Not yet.

But the air thins out.

The edges of my vision

start to blur.

The ants get faster.