The sweet hum of the stray cars is steady just outside my window, while copper streetlights are neatly filling up the empty flesh on my walls. My legs are freshly shaven and drowning in linen, and the blanket feels nice despite the small pinch of dry heat. There is a song artist rapping about jazz in my left earbud, softly.

Something seems out of place but as slumber overtakes me, the feeling hisses and sizzles out slowly from existence.