the light from my phone snakes into my brain,
a dull ache behind my eyes
and sleep seems to draw further from me
with each moment
as i reach for it.
3am.

there is something very particular about being alone
in a city you don’t know, and you’re with your dad
but alone just the same.

summer seeps through cracks in the window,
brooklyn summer,
mosquitos and block parties, booming speakers
and barbeque smoke and laughter
and i am in the living room
of the third-floor walk-up
my back clicking on an air mattress
as i grapple with exhaustion
unfamiliarity coloring my stomach mustard yellow
i can taste it on my tongue

the air pops with electricity
and i imagine him
down the hall
sleeping on the feather mattress

and i am in the living room
in a place i don’t know
covered in sweat like a layer of glue,
rotting in the moisture

a plastic bag crinkles in the kitchen
a rat
i’m sure of it

oh dear,
i am so furious
and i am not sure
at what.