It’s pitch black outside. Blinds are closed. Night creeps in through cracks. The garbage truck makes a racket. Old bones grinding to a halt. Reminds me we’re all getting old.

And the oscillating fan blows on the Basque flag hanging to a wall. Red, green, and white criss-crossing. It shivers in the wind. Thumb tacks in each corner. A light below shines on it. Not a tear, nor rip in the thing. Just a flag wishing it had a home.

The desk in the corner belonged to my father. He used to pay bills on it, draw designs for wood projects, collect pennies. It now has two boxes of spaghetti on top, a television, a flat antenna. There’s a red light, a dot that turns green when it’s on, shining. I want to turn it on; watch infomercials at four in the morning. But, I open the blinds instead. There’s nothing out there. There never was.

Not a single car out. No guns being fired. No fireworks, or, cherry bombs blowing up. Just outlines of trees.

Cats begin to meow. Maybe they’re waiting for light too. They’re in heat. I can tell by their sound. Makes me wanna close the blinds; give em some privacy.

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