Where do you go to nights? The soft, self-centered morning light filters like silk strands through cracks in the blinds. And you come home, hitting your feet against furniture in the dark. I miss the sound of rattling pots and pans as you searched attempted to cook some bread-based dish to soak up the alcohol, staving the imminent throb of the following day. After some slurred musings to yourself under your breath and the occasional thud of accidental connection.