Dig a Tunnel

The mornings get earlier and earlier. I become intimate with the Frenchman behind the coffee counter, he gives me free coffee and I have patience that he forgets everything else. Hours while away behind the word processor, stressed Brooklynites running in and out for their morning regulars, other writers or free lancers roll in with the tides. Come midday, I stumble out into sunshine and feel I have an entire day behind me, while another lies ahead, but evenings are heavy and my eyes grow gravelly before their time. He calls from across the earth and his accent soothes you, the way his voice sounds tanned by African skies, the way his pauses are waves against the shore. I once spent a summer watching him fall asleep in Soviet nights, but that was a different life, I was a different person. Not better, not worse, just different, you know?

You have been someone else, too, many someone elses after all, surely you know what I mean.

I go to bed early, now, my eyes closed before my head hits the pillow.

It's been a while since I watched someone fall asleep.