Down the quiet hallway and up the silent steps he crept so as not to disturb the sleeping occupants of the house. Like a thief or assassin through darkness and dust to his bed tucked in a tight corner. And alone he wrapped himself in blankets of many colors. And alone he let his thoughts drift from a head pillow-bound to other places and times. The flickering of a streetlight in time to the pulse he can hear throbbing within his own head.
And so he closes his eyes and hopes.
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