To sleep, perchance to dream... there's the rub. |
Coffee: black and cold: lifeless, useless against the night. I ignore the waiting arms of gray and pink tile underfoot, rest my head, in embrace with the cool, blue counter worn gray. I push the counter away, hoping none can see. Place feet shoulder width apart, fan toes out for stability. Straighten (don't lock) knees. Tilt head to balance. Relax. Leaning forward, back, feeling for the ledge, then teetering away. Always so near that point where sleep becomes a force. Desperate, I cling to the center where sleep pulls forward and back. Addled, adrift, I sway— a leaf in the wind— moving as I must to keep wit and legs limber. Head tips back as arms swing forward. I forge an uneasy truce between the sleep force before me and the sleep force behind. Blue and green ripple, dreamlike, before my eyes; the sleep force bends my vision even as it besieges my stance. Then: gears click, doors part. Enter the black-hooded wraith, faceless. Gloved talons strike, cellophane screams. The thing rushes toward the darkness, pauses, flashes a pointed look: human. Chin up, lip curled, his sneer says all: I could have done it, you know. A shake of his head. The chips crinkle beside the smudge I left. Cash changes hands. The stranger exits. Doors like glass curtains close, leaving me to gaze at the blue-worn-gray counter and wait for the sleep force to encroach. |