a dark and stormy night FOUR

Morning is loud.

How is it louder than thunder?

Why is traffic so loud in the morning?

Why are birds so damn noisy?

How is it that the bread truck, making its daily delivery, can be louder than the container ship sounding its horn as it arrives in port in the middle of the night.

Fuck.

I did it again. I fell asleep in my shirt and trousers; I look a mess.

I smile a little. I wonder how many mornings were like this, in this room for others.

The left overs of the smoke smell good. Old wood. Smoke. Leather.

Mixing together with hot sun baking through the windows.

What’s with all the damn birds?

Don’t they have somewhere to be. A worm to get.

Water.

I need water.

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