The occupant sips wine, *** burning fingers, her only company are the cockroaches that sanctuary in the wallpaper which peels like sunburn. Faded linoleum floor ceiling drips mirror cracked blank face staring back. She sits alone, grown children flown like her husband. Stereo whines from her night stand ‘I have a prince who is waiting and a kingdom downtown’, as she gazes through the window (cracked with cold) through weepy condensation, hair knotted with stress not long enough to let down for the nobody who waits outside. Clothes hang like ghosts suspended from lines, police cars shriek, dogs without leashes rumage through last nights meal. She toasts to the moon, lonely like her. Unnoticed, outshone by blaring lights. She pours another glass, as the moon tucks in its trailing robe, dreading the dawn that begins to break.