#valespoken

Kevin is. That is perhaps the best, and only way he can describe it. He’s tired, and exhausted, in pain, and heartbroken. Carlos’ letter is sitting in his pocket, folded and refolded, and he no longer knows what to say or to feel. 

It’s... it’s... he squints up at the sky, one hand providing what measly bit of shade that it can. Daylight, but that only meant so much coming from Desert Bluffs Too, and before that, StrexCorp, and Desert Bluffs which used to have days, but didn’t by the end. He blinks, and lets his shoulder sag. He’d walked from Desert Bluffs Too through the desert and now, he was standing on the far side of the Dog Park that was illegal. 

He could, he could keep walking tomorrow, or tonight. No one would *look* at the Dog Park, and if he curled up very small perhaps they’d just skip over him. He pulls at his sleeves, the twisting tentacle tattoos a give away. He sighs, and slips the blazer off, turning it inside out to hid the worst of the blood stains and turns towards the gates, half curled against the pole beside the doors. 

Night Vale did evening radio shows, so long as he woke up and left before that he wouldn’t have to worry about seeing his dear delightful (beloved) double, and leave it all behind.