A long time ago it was too late. And now it is merely later.

We are still here…are we?

Time was when time was something you could count on- it may be for you or it may be against you but you could count on it alltheless.

Cold coffee and old cigarettes used to be the marching orders and all, along with a good clock, that was needed to let you know how long it had been since you had finally gotten a good night’s sleep. And often it was far too many butts, and cups, and hours ago.

So you’d just have another cup and find another smokeable butt and drink the one while flaming up the other and looking to see when the clock had finally reached the end.

All else failed but this did not. It was more reliable than the seasons, and just about as accurate. But still it was there, right along with you.

And the music. Don’t ever forget the music.

So it was. The coffee, the smokes, the music and the clock on the kitchen wall.

And the sounds of the outside world. Sometimes before the sun and sometimes after but always right in between.

It’s hard to ignore the sun and the sounds of the outside world unless you really want to. Then maybe it’s not so hard but maybe it should have been.

So if you watched the clock and then reached the point where the coffee had all been drunk and the cigarettes had all been smoked then you could take note of what time of day it was before heading outside to the world and the sounds and the sun, if it was the right time in between.

For there it was that was true release and the freedom you had for too long sought, long before it was that you had gotten your last night’s sleep.

You gave up the caffeine and the nicotine for all that was open and free and out of doors. And the clock really didn’t matter anymore because it would have been either really bright or really dark outside depending on which in between it was that you had gone out of doors to finally find.

And that was all you really needed and all you really wanted and all, really, that you had ever known. It was home and it was comfortable and with all that fret about health and stuff it was still the best for you no matter what they said. They wouldn’t listen but you, you had to.

You managed to forget about your last night of good sleep but you were still able to think about the next one or even the next one after that.

That was all yours and they could not take that away even after they did manage to take away the coffee and the cigarettes and even the old clock on the wall. And somehow, too, the music had gone so very far away.

But there were still the sounds outside and those you were still free to enjoy as long as there was life and the sun, no matter which in between you happened to happen upon. One would lead to another anyhow and somewhere in there you might find that good sleep.

As long as there was the sun to split the day, and the night, in two.

But then they came for that too and the whole shithouse wound up in flames and there was no sleep no more. Not even the bad kind…