Whenever his insomnia relents and his eyelids shake, his head nods, his firm posture wavers, he sees it. Sometimes when he can't drag his head away from the warm nest he's created with his arms on the desk and his face pressed against the wood, he empties his mind, enters semi-consciousness, and he's drowned without understanding.

     He walks at night, long after the sun sets and traffic dies down. No one sees him unless he passes beneath a lamp post. Sometimes the light flickers, moon clouded over, stars nowhere in sight, and he rekindles his intimate relationship with the dark.