By chris-chris92 on Skatehive
I woke up with that strange tension in the chest that comes from knowing a bureaucratic errand is waiting. There was nothing dramatic about it, just the dull certainty that the day would drain me. I left early, barely awake, hoping to renew my identity document, the kind of duty that feels mechanical until life reminds you how fragile the system is. The line was already forming under a sky that looked indecisive, half sun, half storm. I remember standing there, watching people repeat the same tired gestures of waiting, faces carved by resignation. I thought it would be quick, maybe two hours at most. Instead, I ended up facing an absurd discovery: after thirty-three years, it turned out I had two identification numbers. Two versions of myself that the system couldn’t reconcile. Not even the clerk could tell me which one was real. Somewhere between anger and disbelief, I felt a silence inside me, that quiet collapse that comes when the absurd becomes familiar. I wasn’t angry at one pers