When there is nothing left but the silence in between the podcasts, you want to look up at the sky and just question everything. It would be a relief to yell really, really loudly, but if you open your mouth a sound will come out that will likely terrify some little old lady sitting at home, watching the Price is Right. It's that time of day, after all. You're the only one moving, wanting to yell. Other people are stopping the sound by taking cigarette breaks, another lap around the office to the cooler, or stuffing chocolate pastries in to extend a break, or "just because." (If you don't do that they shoot you dirty looks and try to justify their own gluttony. The truth is, you had a little piece earlier, but you don't make them feel terrible for their obesity.) But right now there are no pastries, and you're too nice to be an alcoholic - vodka before breakfast is stomach-turning, unless it's for a celebratory occasion or a luxurious brunch - so you've gone for another walk and just want to yell.
But you can't yell because someone would call the police. There was a shooting, again, on the East side the other day - yes, that side your former coworkers made their racist remarks about, letting their bigoted bile fall from their lips, before going to church on Sunday. Love thy white-ass, straight, god-fearing neighbour was about right. It doesn't matter that you're just somewhere in the middle between the East and the West, the day and the night, walking around in the headphone white noise of music or voices, because it's a small town and people don't expect the unexpected. Except in pockets, of course. And in those pockets you find the hipsters and the cool kids and somehow the money to look cool, feel cool, act cool. You'll never be cool, but that's beside the point. You just want to yell.
Tomorrow you'll yell. Tomorrow you'll drive to the beach in a storm and hope the crazy people and the rapists have stayed home. (Not that there will be any, of course, but you're a woman and anyone can jump out of anywhere at any time.) But you'll hope you're alone anyway, so you can yell into the wind and the waves and nature and maybe reach Canada. Oh, Canada. And the sound will be expelled from your soul and the moment, just like this one, will pass and be forgotten because that yell is in limbo right now, not in the past, the future or the present. It is an idea that disappears as soon as your mind moves to other matters, but its ghost remains because you can still feel the urge, the amplitude and the strength deep in your soul.