Pepsi and coughing. Coffee and smoking. Music and dawn. Coughing and glitter. Glitter and purple toes. Snow and commuters. An old, puppy-eaten slipper, and a watch with one band missing. An accusatory email to my mother, and a prayer for my ex. The box in which my last painting arrived, and a toaster box, both collapsing atop the recycling heap. The striped shirt that I burned with a cigarette at the neck, and the baby blue blanket on the couch, pocked with similar holes. Empty pepsi cans and the beep of the coffee maker. Music and a grey sky. Still, snow, glitter. More coughing.