Patched — Night High 3

I'm night-high again, no pill, no leaf, just the hum of the overpass, the ghost of a thief who stole my last lighter, my last good reason. December in the marrow — it's treason season.

High on the absence. High on the ache. High on the promise the morning will break like a bone, like a bottle, like a lease I can't sign. This is night high three — and the low is divine. The first two nights, the rush was clean. Night high 1: rooftop, downtown, wind carving through my ribs. I watched a murder and didn't flinch. Night high 2: tunnel chase, flickering lights, a briefcase full of stolen hard drives. My hands didn't shake. night high 3

I'm standing in a 24-hour laundromat at 3 a.m., blood under my fingernails I don't remember earning. The fluorescent tubes buzz like trapped hornets. A woman in a pink bathrobe folds towels, humming a lullaby from my childhood. She looks up. I'm night-high again, no pill, no leaf, just