That late that foggy brain time of late night melting like slow syrup into early morning.

That everything that’s shut down for the night so that left noises left out are slow motion cacophonics, goblins, banshees.

That STUPID clock second hand every second on the second sixty times a minute a mortar bomb EXPLODING.

That leaf and twig out window, mad at glass. THUMP it, THUMP it, SCREECH it chalkboard.

That last cab of the night. WHOOSH that pissing down wet road. Trailing off.

That humidifier in the basement CLATTER ROAR like every part’s a thrashing into every other part. How does it even stay in 1 piece? How is it not collapsed? Just a heap. A chaos pile of metal and screws and tubas apparently.

That NEXT last cab of the night. Then its drunken cousin hot hot hot behind. Of course.

That stupid clock second hand every second on the second sixty times a minute a mortar bomb EXPLODING.

That foggy brain.

Drips.

That trail of events is that slowed down stuck and bed is next and bed is next but we are left idling, captain, and I think…

I think that’s all we got… so…

We’ll just be hanging around here for the foreseeable future, thank you.

That while the day raced by with all the opportunities dangling off it and you, sat down and maybe grabbing at a couple, ineffectual at best.

Show’s over. Go home.
Oh yeah? Oh. Yeah.

Since that then, now this then.
This sitting now.
Sitting Still.
Day passed.
Still sitting.
Refusing to admit defeat.
Refusing to admit it’s over.
Stubborn maybe.
Bravery of course.

Foggy brain.
Staring at the wall.