That Black thing

Of course I can’t sleep! You wake when the house moves, someone upsthere drops their glasses on their wooden floor, or nature calls badly and you feel the sudden urge to eat a peach ( just eaten a peach ) – but sharply reminded I am of the hiss cars outside, a long lasting relationship with the Black thing of my city. It’s at these times that bikes get stolen and breadmen wipe their eyes in their vans, slowly clicking the front door closed, they easy down their paths, not waking that child. I’d secretly adore being a delivery man, sausage rolls and tea, behind the scenes.

But I’m not a delivery man- i have no kids to poke and disturb, wake-sleepless in the cloak, the cold has drifted in and hiding away from the elements till the morning is the best idea I’ve had in the insomnia. I’ll try drift off and not let the movement of my hats ( which… yes they move I’m convinced ) make rustling sound in the corner or the rumble of the electric box pushing on the heaters.
The odd voice passes beneath the window as they go to work. They don’t care about sleepless man in the Black thing they just want to bike it to a place where it’s not cold, very warm and a quick early start to their day out of bed.
Who’s really the lucky one.

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