And now the coming down— not nearly as poetic, and somehow a thousand times more depressing.

Hungover, head pounding, heart struggling to beat right out of her chest, Aria has managed to survive another day. She knows it won’t be like this forever, that either karma or sheer stupidity will put her in the ground sooner or later. It’s only a matter of time before she’s nothing but another statistic…

Even the mufflers can’t help Aria remember her early morning trek back to the 14th, yet the drugs got her home safe and sound. Back to that shithole apartment paid for by her father’s stream of unemployment checks— well, at least the ones that aren’t being cashed entirely on alcohol and cigarettes.
The usual 5pm morning routine then goes as follows: throw up, shower, throw up IN the shower, get yourself out of the shower without falling over— or at least without bringing the whole curtain down with you, put the same black jeans on, finally eat something for the first time all weekend, and succumb to the static once more.

Aria sits in her sadness for a while, tasting ramen as if she were still eating it right then and there. Eventually she gives up, unsure if the cliff notes version of her weekend made her feel better or worse. Aria then yanks off her headphones just in time to catch the announcement of the trolley’s arrival into the first district— just like that, jolted back to reality.