The middle of the week drifts through the night.
Mist has descended and has lovingly smudged out the world.
Rain drips in a constant rhythm outside the window.
The autumn cold sits, a heavy blanket.
Shrouded in her comforter, she looks from the ceiling to the window again.
She tries to count sheep.
She wonders at the solitary car slicing through the wet streets.
Wonders who else is awake.
The baby in her belly nudges her with a sleepy foot in reply.
Backstory. I think it’s safe to call this one a Creative Non Fiction (CNF) piece. I put a shorter version of this up on Twitter a few years ago, and shout-out to the person who noted a Bladerunner vibe – which gives it a whole other dimension of noir.
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