Kathy watches the screensaver on the computer monitor. It’s the one where little white pixels that are supposed to be stars fly by, pass you, to provide the illusion of traveling through space. 
 

Very Star Trek. Very retro.
 

Jack is on his cell phone, surfing the internet or something. Here, but not. 

The joint clip smolders in the ash tray just before him.
 

Zoë smiles and slowly twirls her costume-jewelry necklace. It looks cheap. It’s probably expensive.
 

I’m thinking about the way it used to be.

I’m starting to wonder if any of this is even real. Some times it sure seems like none of it is. 

I’m talking long-term, big-picture. 

Newer memories are slipping, everything’s been getting so fuzzy lately. Was all you’ve done, everything you’ve become for nothing? 

And it’s killing you just the same. 

This regret without a name.

And of course, there’s a reason for all of this. 

No, it’s not because mommy and daddy didn’t love you enough or the convoluted fact that the other kids picked on you when you were younger. 

No, the reason is a much more selfish one.

It’s about everything and nothing. And some things. Can you grasp the point I'm trying to correct? Last time didn't go to well. I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea. About me and the person I am and any of this.

Ignored, I leave. Sit alone, at my desk, back in the dorm room with the lights out. My roommate gone, off somewhere.
ever here. Dead, probably.
Did I kill him?
 

Wonder scenarios.
Shrug at the paranoia that builds. 

Then later, it is two AM in the elevator.