"Try" being the operative word. That's all anyone can ever do, isn't it? Win or lose, succeed or fail, at least you will have tried.
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When you get home, you are tired, drained.
You look at the time. The memorial for Chalidah must be already over. If you had intended to go, or watch it on holo, it's already too late.
You are alone in your apartment.
It's quiet in here. You make your way to the kitchen to throw dinner into the microwave. Dinner for one, of course.
You have one of your headaches, the ones that feel like your skull is about to burst open.
The single fluorescent light gives your skin a sickly hue. Rain is pounding on the window. Of course it is.
The world outside is growing still, the streets are slowly emptying, as if draining.
You catch a glimpse of your face in the glass.
The light makes your eyes look hollow.
Vitória is with your ex-wife. You have nobody to care for. Nobody that depends on you right now. Not really.
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