FaceCody Sisco
Worse than losing myself in the crowd, worse than becoming an afraid-lonely-miserable hipster hermit living in poverty jammed up alongside ridiculously wealthy and shallow bling-clad influencer fruitnuts, worse than that was this: becoming ensnared when I least expected it.
Ensnared. A hideous word.
And the worst was that I didn’t want to find my way out again.
The first sign of trouble: a horn blaring from a pickup truck behind me, which should have snapped me out of the daze. Deep in traffic where brake lights flared and dimmed, driving to work, I reached a breaking point. That horn was the first of many warning signals that failed to register as I slipped deeper into the trap of obsession.
I leaned forward in my seat and stared at a face floating high above the 110,
