i dream of a city

i have strange dreams of a city with all-night laundromats where the sky is muddy

and cold; the pale yellow lights filter through the grey, punctuated by neon signs.

people trickle in and out at all hours, hauling their piles of clothes through the doors

with a faintly furtive look.

there is a different feeling when the everyday things are open all night. the 3-in-the-mornings

feel a little less lonely; you know that just down the street humanity is coming and going

and doing its business, that the only people awake with you aren’t just the drunk people

spilling out of the bars.

i miss the convenience stores and diners and the conventional late-night haunts

but i miss more badly the strange little places, the all-night laundromats and 24-hour

shopping malls. maybe we the sad and weird are awake when the rest of the world has

quietly gone to sleep.

i met new friends in a denny’s in fredericksburg, during a thumbnail-biting stint without a home.

i was scribbling sadly in a notepad, killing time, wondering where i’d sleep that night; they sat

down next to me and asked me what i was doing.

i dream of a city with all-night laundromats with a sickly yellow light, of a place that is not quite

so cold and silent. but i am cold and silent and i stare out of the window; i think of conversations

and pale yellow light.