Can a story be all questions

Will this ladder hold me

Is the water safe to drink

I talk to myself to be ready if anyone else appears

Are there times light is more important than heat

If the sound is coming from both directions, do I have to choose

or wait, learning to doppler, to separate, sending agents or drones

while staying at home, monitoring more sources than I have fingers

Is there somewhere so barren you can’t tell if there’s wind just by looking

When putting on more clothes makes me colder

Where every window and mirror is a monitor, taking more than they give

Is there any personal data left in me

Can a story be nothing but facts, connecting conjectures

above my pay grade, the only AI I can access is Advertising Intensive

My credit score is too low cause I pay all my bills

and have only one card—what kind of a story is that

Like a topographical map of time, mountain ranges of wars and plagues

narrow valleys of peace and isolation. I’m nowhere on the map

now here, as the map continues to scroll and evolve

Why are the same stores at every exit

Why do gas prices rise as my tank nears E

Time for a new chapter in a new city in my fictional memoir

of what’s to come—is it my fault reality didn’t read the script

yet sends its own consequences, sometimes misaddressed,

rarely with instructions, never a return address