A small room above a bay window. A single bed, a table and chair, and a sink. I could manage something larger, with more conveniences, but I could never match the view.

On the windowsill, a shotglass full of water. Floating inside, a fuzzy root. Who put it there? I look closer: half the fuzz is bubbles.

I roll over, glancing at the clock. An afternoon nap has turned into evening. Will I sleep tonight? Again I roll over, to look at the root. Falling back to sleep.