not sleeping again, six am. bed side table lamp glowing dim as I lie like a bored sunday child; with my head off the mattress, feet to the ceiling. and also not eating again. in a suburb burger restaurant I sat, idly picking and sipping at tepid tap water while chatting of crockery and movies. to my left, two twin siblings, boy and girl, battling it out on a red vinyl seat to decide who will sit by the father, with the Nintendo t-shirt. her white-stockinged legs stretch, a tiny foot pressed to her brother’s soft cheek as he slaps at her knee, sets a palm to her forehead. push each other away. to my right, wide young lovers talking music and Jesus, her makeup like warpaint, his hair gel like cedar sap. i am not talking again. better ask you forgive me, when i’ve little to say, it is for i’ve had five hours sleep and I cannot keep fleeting attention from minuscule things.