While the world sleeps there’s this blast of silence that follows the whine of daylight: a defeat that wraps itself around houses like a python, or one of those blue sheets they bundle corpses up in. Wanna go for an ambulance ride? Fragments of the sordid and the quote unquote normal vie for my attention. Hacking coughs and slumbery groans dangle in the 3 a.m. air. Up on this bench, I smoke cigarettes and wait. I feel like a god in here. No kidding. Jerusalem Slim on her final nights in the garden. Ms. X, Dr. No, the Invisible Woman. All the same character, different movies. It’s a city of delinquents, of dead souls: my disciples. Maybe some passing bum across the street finds one of my stubbed cigarettes and is delighted. Everybody’s looking for something to inhale and something else to empty into. I feel this whole city reels and twinkles at my feet, but the stars aren’t impressed. My old man snores like he’s trying to suck up the universe. And the humans, the humans act as if they’re going to stick around forever, but nobody does. That’s what cracks me up.