First post 3am cigarette: Insomnia. Again. Witnessing this new, strange city before me; its expanse, its quiet, its lights casting eerie fluoresce against the clouds reminding me of the northern lights and home. The night is cool but I sit nude on my porch. It’s past three in the morning and anyone who can see is probably drunk and will forget by morning. And I’m too lazy to bother. I puff lazily on a cigarette hoping that any moment I’ll be seized by drowsiness so I can make off to bed. The view from my balcony is prettier at night, prettier being a strange word to use as it implies some kind of beauty. At night, or in my case in the morning, the cracked terra cotta roofs and the spider webs of electrical wire draped
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