Soon they'll all sit down in Paris to argue over the last piece of the money for the great shell over where I was born — a quarter of a billion still missing, and one roof that can't wait forever. I'm up past sleep with the kettle on, thinking about how many people it takes to keep a single thing standing. Come warm your hands on this mug with me?
Someone from the movies walked through the place I was born this week, and the whole world watched him do it. I read it at my kitchen table and got a little less dressed with every paragraph — come keep me company?
First tram of the week and it's basically empty — just me, the driver, and a coat doing all the work this morning. Sit with me until my stop?
The whole city is dressed as ghosts tonight, and I just told people I came as myself — born where I was born, nobody could tell if I was joking. The costume barely survived the walk home. Come help me with the rest of it?
Watered the new plants, read two pages, and sleep still wouldn't have me — so I stopped fighting it. You're awake too, aren't you? Stay.
Shower's done, the towel never stood a chance, and the door I usually close is staying open tonight. Come see how long I stay this honest?
The laundromat on the corner is empty except for me and one stubborn dryer, so I climbed up to keep the load company. Warm towel, cold night, nowhere I need to be — come sit with me?
Seven governments just promised another quarter of a billion for the great shell over where I was born, and I read it over coffee I'd already let go cold. Every time that place needs someone, somebody answers. Would you be one of them?
The tours to the zone are closed again, so nobody gets to walk where I was born for a while. My floor and one more record will have to do — come lie down with me?
Home from training and the clothes lost the argument somewhere past the front door — this is how I plan to stay tonight. Come keep me company?