Only This and Nothing More by Neil Maneck

I wander through my apartment, a few degrees brighter than perfect black. My headphones are loud, a failed play at subtlety like a whispering drunk, but my roommates are snoring corpses and notice nothing. I stare out the window, expectant. For what? A movement of moonlight to direct me, perhaps. I slump into a couch, exhausted yet anxious, hungry for salvation from aimlessness.