things move around

In an attempt to block out the moronic American action movie, volume at max and picture jerking spasmodically on the TV screens as my bus corkscrewed down out of the Andes, I draped my fleece over my face and set my MP3 player to repeat the only polka tune in my collection until all my conscious being had bled entirely out of my quaking eardrums, leaving me a mere husk.

But still, in between repetitions, “roger that, we’ve got another SWAT team on the way…”