odd some nights like this night seem to crawl down the back of one's neck and settle at the base of the skull, stay there like that like this. it is probably a little prelude to death, a warm-up. I accept. then the mind becomes like a movie: I watch Dostoevsky in a small room and he is drinking a glass of milk. it is not a long movie: he puts the glass down and it ends. then I'm back here. an air purifier makes its soft sound behind me. I smoke too much, the whole room often turns blue so now my wife has put in the air purifier. now the night has left the back of my skull. I lean back in the swivel chair pick up a bottle opener shaped like a horse. it's like I'm holding the whole world here shaped like a horse. I put the world down, open a paper clip and begin to clean my fingernails. waiting on death can be perfectly peaceful.