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So we walk into the night with only a few hours of sleep in our bodies, drunken by visions of narcoleptic reality and insane blood rush to our head.

Now we sleepwalk, and our eyelids are heavy as gold nuggets, and every part of our body goes through a gravitational pull. Everything that surrounds us is plotting against us.

The fight, the struggle to stay awake seems impossible and worthless. No sense in avoiding it when it hits you like sweet fragrance on a beautiful woman who walks past you out on the street. Breathe it in.

A dream finds us while we’re trying not to give in. But the thought does cross our minds, manifested in a long inviting tentacle, a warm beam of feathery light in a cold and dark tunnel.

We keep walking, working, staying alert, on the look out for anything out of the ordinary, anything that might give the slightest hint of rest, of an attractive pipe dream bliss.

Then when the time comes, when the moment’s right, we’ll recognize it and welcome it like momentary death, silky and narcotic, till we fall into temptation. Till we finally fall asleep.