At 2am, the magnificence of the night was defiled by unholy shit spewing from the house five doors away.

She stuffed the comforter into her ears and began to think really loudly.

But there was this one note.

Stubborn and self-preserving; it crawled to the top of the aural shitpile, jack-booting the doof-doof-waas and emerged filthy and triumphant.

It was now a giant fly in her ear, its wings beating down on the drums.

Wings like fists; knuckle-dustered, fresh and going for the title.

She bled right through the pillow, on to the sheets.

Oh how she prayed for a senseless act of violence.

A deranged drifter with a stiffy for massacre and a Bring Your Own Bullets policy.

The music stopped.

The fly was gone.

She praised Heaven and promised lots of alms to beggars.

Turning over on to her other side, her hand sought out the cool spot under the pillow.

The dogs began to bark.

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