It’s too hot to sleep, and so I’m sitting on the curb. A mosquito whispers in my ear and I lazily sweep her away, I don’t have time to listen.  Not tonight. Not now when his breath is stained with alcohol, not when his eyes are red from restless nights. Wakeless nightmares. He sits on the curb in silence--sitting next to me--hunched over, his spine silhouetted on his skin. And we sit there for hours, exchanging no words, only breaths. Each taking a turn breathing in a little poison.