I’m too tired to write. Words and sentences evade me. If I should sit down to write, just for a moment, as an act of desperation, then I wouldn’t be able to think of a single thing to jot down. You are not even reading this right now, because I went to bed ten minutes ago. I brushed my teeth – paying special attention to upper-right molars and lower-left, quizzically diagonal – and washed my face, which becomes so oily during the course of the day. My room was given a quick tidy; by which I mean that I shifted two stacks of books, smiled at a Spider-man comic I had found near my old bedroom, put a glass of water by my bedside and sighed most smugly and snugly as I crawled between the sheets. And I would lie there in bed, not at all remorseful that I hadn’t stayed up just an hour longer to write, but had recognised the importance of a good night’s rest and sought it.

The stars are visible tonight, so visible in fact that I’ve already completely forgotten what they look like. Under the bouquet of space it is quite easy to forget things! Two gardens over, a couple are reclining in the early spring warmth with a bottle of wine. There is old music playing from when they weren’t the age they are now. The woman is singing along but she doesn’t know the words. I wonder if the man finds that cute or irritating. In the bushes I hear the neighbourhood cats playfighting. In the morning, when all of this is covered in light again, one of the cats will mew at the kitchen door to be let in; she’ll look around, roll about on the floor and appeal to be petted before swiping for your hand and heading back outside. Already I can’t wait for it to be tomorrow.

I’m too tired to write because it’s the end of a long day. Today was longer than yesterday. It’s unfair that not all days are the same length; I should write to my MP about it, but I’m so far from home. Today I went on a long walk by myself. I went for a long walk in – and because of – the sunshine. The sun beat down on me and made me hot. There were people too precious over their winter coats to just abandon them on the hook, to take that leap into the crystal-clear blue of springtime chill that soon rubs off once one strolls a hundred yards! The sand lay thick on the path, and you had no choice but to trudge through it. Across the pavement someone had dropped their blueberries; they lay scattered, some of them crushed, all of them the colour of night and glistening quite beautifully. On the way back I stopped off at the cornershop and bought some cherry coke. The man behind the till was nothing more than a pair of gloved hands poking out a hole in translucent corex. I paid him nineteen-fifty-nine, the year my parents were born. I walked down the street drunk from the sun, stumbling. Greedily I drank the cherry coke and it spilled into my beard. Immediately I am turned off when someone says—‘Not a cloud in the sky!’ but there really wasn’t a cloud in the sky, so the matter of false advertising was put to bed.

Everyone got drunk and I grew tired of it. Before I went to bed (fifteen minutes ago), I walked around the house in a most sombre mood. Every room echoed with snoring. The TV played and my brother slept in front of it, snoring before the only light in the room, a sick neon vibrating off everything. That was when I went outside and noticed all the stars.

It’s not my fault I forgot the stars, really it isn’t. I lied in bed and tried to forget a great many things of the day, attempting to dwell only on the good: sun & blueberries. However, the stars escaped me! The sheets were very soft on my skin. With wretched hands I felt my legs and the hairs there, and a little cut on my right thigh that had appeared from nowhere. I thought that I might like to have nightmares, and possibly could you arrange something? We’ll see what we can do, sir, but I’m not promising anything. Okay, we’ve shifted a few things around and were able to get you some nightmares. Enjoy them, sir. Now, close your eyes.