She smiled, with a pleasant inquiry, and a little bit of a bedhead. Walking into the room, in her v-neck cotton shirt and pajama pants, at midnight where I was on the couch, my mouth cracked because of infomercials. Just that soft cotton tshirt of hers. The warm smell from her hair permeates every inch of space left on this couch, that we don’t occupy together. Just a blinking tv, with a below-audible volume and the occasional car horn in the sleeping city streets are around. Even the old tomcat is asleep, but what else does he ever do? Goodnight, these dreams.