In hours when there is no light. Mice scurry on a kitchen floor, picking up crumbs. The cat watches. Ready to pounce. While voices down the hall reach high-pitched tones and squeak here, and there, like a saxophone played by Coleman. Notes are improvised.

I sit on a sofa staring into darkness. An old air-conditioner goes on and off throughout the night. It is cool, almost cold. A blanket is used. There is no sleep. Just sounds in the dark, keeping me awake.

Sunlight sneaks in. A window without curtains. Telling me to get up and embrace this day. The dark is gone too soon.