that’s the problem with rewatching old tv shows too many times. once the fourth wall breaks, they’re just actors on a screen. i imagine them rehearsing lines. someone’s hungover. someone’s breath smells of garlic before a kiss, someone has to take a shit. they’re just people. once here. once there. and now i’m here. and we’re all just standing in the mud of it. in the eerie witching hours, when it feels like the lines recite on and on and on, when the show might as well be bloopers, i see myself in the mirror with no escape. and when sleep finally wins, and the screen clicks black, i see death in the doorway, clear as a summer night, and no amount of make-believe can obscure his view.