Brooklyn. Bed. Covers are too hot. My back aches. I twist my torso until my spine makes crackling noises. There's not much natural light through my window, but it's enough to wake me. The window is barred, but I don't feel like a prisoner. The bars are for my own protection. I'm here to recover. I chose to come here. This is my home now. I've been here almost three weeks.

Ten thirty.

I twist in bed for another two hours. I'm on a schedule. Sleep at 3AM, wake around 11. Eight hours. That's healthy. I don't have a job to go to.

The neighbor has dogs. Lots of puppies. They're all barking. Every morning is like this. She doesn't like them. She yells at the puppies. Why did she get puppies if she doesn't like them? Maybe it wasn't her choice. Are they breeders? Was it unintentional birth, and she doesn't know what to do with the puppies?

"It was inevitable that we'd come here."

When I walk around the neighborhood, I see dogs, people, and butterflies. I smell animals and chicken on grills. My sense of smell was damaged. It's harder to enjoy life this way.

I wish I didn't have enemies.

I wish I was a morning person.