In a truck, the same color as the blue screen of death, I have driven to the end of the world and stopped. There are waves upon waves there, and a sky so high it feels heavy on my shoulders. The wind won't waver in its insistence on cutting through my T-shirt, and seagulls repeatedly dive at me, apparently thinking I am going to share my sandwich.

I'm eating it slowly to piss them off.

In the truck are the three things I am intending on heaving into the ocean. My wedding ring, my laptop and the keys to the truck.

"Dudes," I tell the gulls, "don't get into the day trading shit." Gulls don't know from day trading I guess.

"And if you do, don't try to make up for losses all at once. You gotta have a system. You gotta be patient."

The waves and wind are drowning me out and I get into the truck and close the door. The gulls circle wider, but I am the only real opportunity within a mile.

I power up the laptop and re-read the email she had accidentally sent to me instead of him. I know it by heart. I had thought it was a joke. I asked her. It wasn't a joke.

I told her that it was only a temporary setback, that we weren't poor, exactly. She told me she couldn't possibly cut back that much. I told her I could get it back. She told me she needed to be with someone who didn't have to try. I told her that I loved her and I'd do anything. She told me that I'd done enough.

I'd never hot-wired a car before. I read how to do it on the internet. I took his truck while they were at a restaurant. The valet parkers are going to get a lot of grief.

I can't decide which order to throw them. The sun starts to set and I don't feel like walking to the bus station in the dark so I get out. I imagine the laptop hitting rocks below. And I imagine the sound of the keys hitting the water being drowned by the waves. And I imagine myself riding a bus to someplace new and remote, with the ring in my pocket just in case.

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