The rain on the courtyard awning, the opaque tv rattle from the living room, sanitation squeaks, keystrokes, that six a.m. twilight space that dares and taunts the eyes one way or another, a wishy-washy bully directing traffic at the crossroads of consciousness and un-. Should be a great time to be out, meditative, breeze in my ears, moths, mosquitoes, dogs, green-painted benches with morning moisture waiting for the wipe-off. Coffee brewing and burning -- every bagel-kneader, hash-slinger, cigarette-peddler, donut man. Still dressed from yesterday, looking faintly around, taking stock of the greyscale inertia and the implied madhouse of looming obligations. The noise builds as the minutes push through the rotation.