Here come the digits, three on the right I don't care about. One on the left that means everything. One becomes two. That's all there is: an arbitrary cutoff line.
If just once, it didn't have to be this way. I just want one chance. Just once I get to be in control of my own destiny. Then I wouldn't fight. Would let the system engulf me. One memory of freedom would be enough.
The digits control me. I run, but not for long. It ends quickly, the one consolation. It's ugly, yet in a strange way attractive. The grab, the mauling…
and the repetition. Because my archenemy and I will always meet at the bottom. I will never get the chance to ski. Free.
Only to eat.