I don’t wanna open the blinds. Nothing’s out there, anyway, but the coal of a planned barbecue and a lot of big talk, a lot of banging around. Shut up, you windbag, I could say, but it wouldn’t quell the storm.

In here, a firelight and numbness, suspension on a cloud. I am a duchess on this small island with sustenance on my mind. I am assuming the position, sunning on this tanless beach while I float with no current.