Text: Premonitions Of War. Layover.

Sweating out the hours meticulously collected, pinpointed and highlighted.
Scratching off events and fifth lines for a better sense of purpose.
Tallying up what's gone done for good. On the outskirts of familiarity,
complacency has terminal light. And total silence, a welcome foreign
language. Outrun them all. Outrun their marathon. Outrun them on everyone's
time but my own.