I hate working late on Tuesdays

I hate working late on Tuesdays. The chaos of Monday dies down and by midnight the streets are empty. Walking home running on 5 cups of coffee and a 5 hour energy gives the walk home a different vibe then usual. Everything feels a little less real. Like the world is spinning faster than usual and my feet can't keep up. Like my legs have gotten longer and my brain hasn't adjusted to the height. Like the buildings on my daily commute have gotten taller without me knowing. It's unnerving. I think I should just get home so I walk a little faster.

Every step I take I hear another right after. I hold my breath but there's heavy breathing right behind. I think it's just the coffee. But how could just coffee make me hallucinate the sound of another human so vividly, I'm not crazy there's something there. I clutch my purse and I turn.... There's nothing but the sidewalk. I walk a little faster.

The street must not be so empty or perhaps my mind misses the hustle and bustle of Monday. I highly doubt it. It must be something my ears can't consume nothing, the street feels a little smaller. There must be someone there. I turn... There's nothing but the sidewalk. I walk a little faster.

My mind must be deceiving me, the thoughts are rushing the blood in my body, pointing pins into my skin. My high heels speak eloquently to the monster, the murderer, the spirit that lurks behind me. I just want to get home, so I walk a little faster.

My walk turns into a trot, my trot into a run. I want to get home faster. My legs run off 5 cups of coffee and 5 hour energy. They can't keep going much longer. There's a grab on my leg and I fall. The monster, the murderer, the spirit that lurks behind me I hear it come closer and closer and closer until ... a cat walks by. I turn.... There's nothing else but the sidewalk.