Ridgewood, 3:14AM

The radiator hissed like it was warning me about something I already knew. Outside, a man dragged a crate across the pavement and it echoed through the whole street, like someone trying to scrape the night wide open. The cats were asleep in their corners, breathing softly like they belonged to a gentler world. I sat on the floor and watched the red light from the deli flicker against my window, the glow pulsing like a heart I was supposed to match.

Everything in New York felt alive at that hour.

Even the loneliness had a shape.

Even the silence had weight.

Sometimes I think the only place I ever felt truly awake was in that apartment, staring at the cracked paint, listening to the radiator talk to me like an old friend.