Flecks of spittle fling from my lip.
Every blink smears a foggy sheen on tired retinas, receding ever more reluctantly.
Ninety minutes in and sodden feelings begin to seep through cape, jacket, skin. Finding reddened flesh.
I look at nothing but see much, flitting past in peripherals. Damp fields, the drip from a hawthorn branch gliding downwards, impossibly slow, as I slither past.
Profiles of faces in cars, warmer than mind but pale, lifeless. Bleak.
A gnawing permeates taut muscles, ancient pains twinge in a knee from seasons past. Core temperature drops, as do shoulders, and I know I have at best a handful of miles left in me. Welcome back.