my night

I imagine my typewriter sounds loud through the walls. I like the clicking, it reminds me of a metronome or a heartbeat. Never changes, at least not without destructive interference. A baby is screaming across the street. I imagine that it is a she, probably in pink with maybe one tooth in the gummy hole that is stretching across her face. I bet she has big eyes. I do not believe that colors should relate to genders. I grew up in a family where boys wore pink and played dress up and girls ran around naked in the mud. and I've moved into a neighborhood where all of this is still true. Its 2 in the morning on a saturday and I am looking around the room for tiny scraps of paper that I ripped up out of frustration. Like all writing, I plan on taping the torn pieces back together in order to reestablish an order to the code. Chaos makes me uncomfortable. I will tell you more about myself in the future, when I learn it. or I will make it up.