A Night among the Suitcases

In the darkness of the night, I am restless as I lay on suitcases trying to fall asleep but not finding a comfortable position. The surface on which I rest is not flat: the suitcase pockets are filled and create an irregular surface.

Because I can’t sleep, I get up. There is a woman next to me, a friend, and a man who looks like Iggy Pop in his youth. I stand up in the middle of the suitcases and some people approach me to show me stuffed animals. One of the stuffed animals looks like an unpolished version of my owl, Aurora and my neuron Asper. I can only think of resting.

We aren’t alone. It seems like there are others sleeping on the street, over suitcases and under the street lights, like cats. Why are there so many people suitcases? All my belongings fit in two valises. It is all I have. Yet, everyone

else has many and there is no room to move. Why do they have so many suitcases!

The discomfort prohibits rest; like her, I get up. I walk along the narrow corridors, between suitcases, towards a social space like a café or kitchen but there is no service. There are chocolate cupcakes and other delicious pastries sitting over the refrigerated countertop. I try to take one but I cannot because they are wrapped together with cellophane paper. It is frustrating.

The floor-space is also limited in that place. We can barely extend ourselves and it occurs to me to sleep there. I don’t see how people pass by, even at night. There is no space to move; it is a terrible idea.

I go back to where I was and grab a muffin that was on a table on the way.

In the silent darkness I notice people sitting around a table. Prudently, I ask if the muffin is theirs, which they affirm, so I return it to the table.

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