Sleepless in New York.

My mind is running heavy, slow, lagging like a computer with too many viruses. The people mill around me, city mentality. Running, running women in track suits and sculpted bodies. I wish they could run my body, run it far better than I do. I don't sleep, I don't sleep well and I crack at the fissures of the lines in my face. Worn weary, wrinkled, I pray for sleep. One, two, three o' clock roll around and I have nothing to show for it but frustration and balled fists. Digging my nails into my palm, railing and reeling against my urge to jump and kick and scream. At least anger is a form of release.

The world outside my window is too big to ignore and I am swallowed, engulfed in the pace of a New York minute.