the railing freezing aginst my palm is all i've got to keep me calm, and the window-counting i have employed, spooling down brick like celluloid and unravelling rapidly behind my eyes in an advent calendar-esque surprise that i don't want. i see all those many lives tonight played out within those squares of light but one square only has graced my script when on firy nights i slept in it with its über-real inhabitant who said 'i'll wet your dreams for you' and i am tired.
