I can’t sleep.

I saw the snow begin. The tree branches are laced with it now. A cab drove by. Nights like this could be lovely at the bar actually. I’d have done last call by now. On week nights we closed the bar at 2. Slow nights, off nights, everything would be clean by now so that when I locked the door and hung the curtain over the big square of plate glass window in the front, it would only take me about twenty more minutes to do a final clean and count the bank and tip out everyone and be out the door. Thursdays could go either way though; it could be a forgiving and charming night in which case I’d be chatting now, elbows on the bar, not rushing, melodic rap playing. The bar was long and narrow and we always kept it very dark and candle lit, everyone looked good in that light, and it fronted a narrow cobble stone street that was an image of New York as the city likes to see itself. On a night like this, the street would be wonderful, silent, a leaning couple walking home, a high heeled woman picking her way like a heron, snow dusting us all.

My alarm is going to go off in three hours and five minutes.

There is an actual human being inside of me.