The juicer whirrs as I hum. Nothing in particular sits in my head.
I throw another chunk of beet into the blender.
Confirming from the recipe book, I add some cinnamon
The juice whirrs up to the top, red foamy juice splashes on my pink jacket.
What is left of the juice gets upturned by my tremor. I hold my hand, stroking from elbow to wrist, elbow to wrist
The lightbulb overheard goes on and off, on and off, signalling a low electrical power unit.
Just when I think adulthood is done with me, it says not yet.

I walk into the garage to get a torch.
As I step into the garage- my carport with a fence. My leg locates a bucket forgotten after a car wash
My car stares at me like a displeased elk and then it goes wailing. I sit on the floor and cry.