A small room inside 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.

I awake to the neighbour's radio, which is louder than usual, too loud to make out what is said. I think instead of what I knew of the world before I went to bed, when I pulled the covers under my chin and asked them to help me sleep.

Cossacks performing at the Winter Olympics, the Ukraine, the world's fresh water supply -- none of which gives shape to what the radio makes. And so I refocus, absorb the rain's plastic dots. I think about the day ahead, and what can wait until tomorrow.