Under the cover of Nothing, he slipped up the umbilical arm of the building, tiptoeing like a giraffe on the flaming savannah. Cheryl could hear his whispers, over and over again, saying "sleep you mother fucker."

He couldn't sleep.

The lampposts inside were too insidious, mocking the others.

The arm flexed and he froze, clinging to his own breath like a torrential downpour of forever.

Nothing caught him but could not hold on. Umbilicals were slippery this time of night.

Wallowing in antiperspirant, he slid up and back into the lighted Something of the building.

Something would happen. Nothing couldn't get a ride home this night.

He was coughing now. Wheezes umbrellad from the sides of his spleen. Not good.

"Sleep mother fucker. Sleep"

Cheryl is going out for dinner

But sleep was waking up like snow on a birds broken wing.

And he was sure he would know Something soon, regardless of how Nothing struggled within.