Chelsea was never quite sure why she found such joy in it. Then again, the sensations she looked forward to were less in the activity itself than in its aftermath. Sure, it was fun to spin. Chelsea had felt that way ever since she was a little girl. To spin meant to move as quickly as possible past everything in every direction, usually while her own strands of dark hair gently bounced against her cheeks.

At seventeen, however, Chelsea had come to prefer the phenomenon which occurred when she stopped spinning. Instead of passing the things around her, they were passing her. It reminded her of how her life worked. Eventually, Chelsea realized that was why she drank so much and so often - it made things spin, too. They spun in a different way, as it was more internal than external. But it was spinning nevertheless. Although she knew it would probably kill her sooner or later, she would rather die spinning than go through life at a standstill.