Yesterday The Los Angeles Review said “they read my work with interest” but my piece “did not fit their editorial needs.“ I think of this as an upgrade. Submitting work is like reality TV; somewhere, Kris Jenner is telling me “you’re doing great, sweetie!” while taking endless pictures of me. The pictures are fuzzy and ultimately no one understands my creativity. I am a C list celebrity. I think of the editors down there in LA, getting lost after paragraph eight. They supposedly stop reading after a certain point. I wonder if anything resonates, if they took anything away from it. But I’m already making edits, submitting it somewhere else and landing in the slush pile like the Game of Thrones finale, disagreeable, blasphemy.

Millions of tiny raindrops pitter-patter across my windshield as I drive along the flooded streets of Karachi at 20 kmph. The sky is flashing purple every now and then and I'm seeing blurry but I keep on going straight ahead with my blinkers on, hoping and praying I don't crash into anybody's car or bike. You must be wondering why I'm out and about at this hour. It's cause our generator's running through petrol like crazy and now there's none left.

Finally, the petrol pump comes into sight and I release a shaky breath. I take the dusty blue can out of the backseat and start to get it filled up.

"That'll be Rs.5000."

My eyes almost roll out of their sockets at that but I reign it in, pay the man and start to move back out onto the streets. 20 litres for 5k. Can you believe it? My parents and I could get a 3 course meal for that price. I shake my head and resume driving, making sure to hide my watch and rings under my sleeve so I don't get robbed or something. This is the state we live in.

Oh, how much I miss my bed. I could give anything to fall asleep right now but I gotta keep my eyes wide open so I don't run someone over. In our country, people don't use the footpaths, oh, no. They just think they own the damn road and walk all over the place so you gotta be extra careful, otherwise you'll end up paying for all the damages. Keeping that in mind, I drive along the broken roads of DHA, trying to avoid the many potholes and failing miserably. I hope to God I don't dent the car. It's not the dents that'll get to me, it's my father's disappointment when he sees them.

At long last, I see my home in the distance and soon enough I'm turning into the driveway before getting out into the cold and running to the generator with the can so we can finally have some peace while we sleep.

My bed, my best friend, here I come.