The man standing in the door way is very old. his head empty of hair except by his ears. his face, where not covered by whiskers, is covered in wrinkles.
I hear the old man begin to say something, but his words are lost to white noise. the warm light coming from inside his home blurs and suddenly i see the floor.
shadows dance in my face as my surroundings change, i feel warm. every time i blink the darkness of the night gets brighter. my head throbs, my stomach aches. i hope this madness ends soon.