Everything I like to do is warm and anonymous. I would like to read and eat and nap every two or four or twelve hours until bedtime. Thinking about my problems from bed and typing them into boxes.
I get interrupted by noises from the obnoxious city. Noises seeping in through my four walls, ceiling, and floor.
Downstairs, a guy is watching an exploding movie or The Office.
Upstairs, a pretend-nice guy embracing Buddhism takes a pause from his chants to sneeze.
Next door, a guy with a night job rotates through three uninformed sex partners with varied levels of audible energy.
Outside, a woman walks by while pleading into a politician’s public inbox to vote “NO” on something important.
When I leave my bed and my room and my apartment, I hide inside my clothes to watch through the threads, saying things like “I want to go home.”