I slip downstairs.

I slip downstairs, toes feeling stair-edges in the dark, until my feet feel cool concrete.

Around me, the detritus of an unfinished basement: boxes, books, unused furniture, a pee-stained mattress and an old rug. I turn the switch on the lamp and cast a circle of dim yellow light onto polytarp-super six and the dead spider in the insulation. My constant companions.

I am tired of waiting for you.

The Account

I make frequent midnight deposits, and the balance increases accordingly.

I have so much invested right now that it is, frankly, a little unsettling.

But I have somehow lost my personal identification number.

I can't access my account.

I want to liquidate my assets, get the fuck outta Dodge, but I don't know how to make a withdrawal, and when I call the help line, all I get is dead air.