I need something to set me off. Some lovely or insightful turn of phrase, some lightbulb flash or lightning strike or an explosion: a head orgasm, if you will. But these hotel doors keep slamming; the guests are restless tonight, if not all that demanding, and I wouldn't mind, except these aren't true night walkers, they're holiday up-laters, their apologetic smiles make me grit my teeth (they know they're disturbing my peace), and every door slam and footstep makes me stand to order. Assholes. I want a quiet night, to enjoy the wet sheen on dark cement, the little chill in the air and the sliver of moon (hiding), or inside: just the ticking of the clock, the clacking of the keaboard or the glide of my pen against paper (I swear I can hear it), the brisk tap tap of only my own two heels against tiled floors. Go away, please, everyone, everything, except you cars out there ~ you're alright ~ rush of air and squelch of tires on a wet, dark night.