You woke me from a drool-deep nap, six pm creased on my cheeks, and told me news that was truly news—there’s news like “hamburger is on sale” or “Colin Powell, known war criminal, has died,” and then there is actual news, where you forget to wash the sleep lines off your face. I went on a walk until the moon came up, big and fat like a middle-aged smile. The lights from oncoming traffic smoothed out my crow’s feet. I pointed toward the sky with my own news: “Look at this bitch! Look at this big fat bitch tonight!”