"Edith," he says. "I have daydreams about losing my mind. I am afraid that one day I'll wake up, like in that movie Lost Highway, and discover that I have murdered my family.
I drive home from work at night to the sound of the screen wipers. I can't stand listening to the radio. And every night I fear I will crash into a tree or the vehicle in front of me.
My wife is upset. She buys pickles every time she goes to the supermarket. She walks around there for hours and comes home with big bloody steaks. She eats them rare.
When I open the fridge, the smell of blood spreads through the house. The pets get restless and the baby cries.
I wink all day, a nervous affection of the eyes. I see more darkness than I see light.
I look at people only asking myself one question: will you have regrets when you die?"