Still dark outside, but I couldn't sleep anymore. Black was under the covers, sacked, as was he, so I left them and went into the main room. Outside, the neighbor across the street backed out of his driveway and puttered off--even from the window I could see his visage bent down and focused on the morning radio show.
For minutes after that, it was silent, then on the horizon, past the tree trunks, the glow came on. Then the first birds spun by and a squirreling chittered back.
In the bedroom the alarm brayed until it was slapped, and he, groaning, shuffled into the shower.
There was something comfortable about those things we know will happen but that so often get ignored in the daily fog. An alarm, a sun glow, a man waking, a shower turning on.
When the water eventually was shut off, I went in to see him. Black was still out. As he dried off and browsed his racks of clothes, he whispered to me. I stretched out on the floor, the shape of a banana he called it, though I meant it to be the shape of a smile.
-Black
