It's night. Don't ask what time. Children are up too late. I can't hear myself think. It's too hot to close the window. I have to work in the morning. I need to sleep...

Rod's attention was unwillingly pulled from his music. Of course he'd noticed the dingy looking man hunched on the bench at the bus stop-Rod was normally the only one there- but only now did he hear the man's obnoxious rambolings. Rod gave an annoyed glance. It was too early for this.

It's late. I don't know what time. Children are still up. I can't hear myself sleep. Its too close to the window to be hot outside. I need to work soon. I can't sleep...

Sasha looked at the pittiful figure from a distance. She couldn't help but listen in. What sad story led that soul to this street corner, that bench. How long had he been there? What was he muttering about? Sasha became inraptured in this odd little moment in time. She thought of the countless people she would never understand. She wondered if she really understood anyone. Then she heard the bus, and remembered she was late for work.

Don't ask why it's dark outside. I need to sleep but the Children are still screaming. It's too hot to think in the morning. I can't close the window. I have to work...

Three boys walked along the sidewalk, chatting amongst themselves. Someone had just gotten busted during lunch for a gatorade bottle of wine. It was an immensely entertaining subject. They rather suddenly and awkwardly noticed the creepy meth head on the bench and cut the conversation. Not sure what to do, they successively pulled their phones from their pockets and acted interested while thinking about what they were going to say about the crazy rambling sketchy homeless man as soon as they were out of earshot.

Children won't let me close the window. It's too late to ask when I need to sleep in the morning. I can't hear why it's hot outside. I want to think...

Margret wheeled her walker right under the streetlight. She fumbled with her wool gloves while making sure never to take her eyes off the madman. Not right in the head. Not right at all. She thought maybe she should call the police. No one talking to himself at this time of night could be up to anything good. As she waited the thought festered. Could be a serial killer, escaped from a madhouse, a satanic pedophile rapist arsonist. By the time the bus arrived she had 911 on her cell phone and had been hovering over the call button for the past ten minutes.

Window. Ask have can't. Morning Children hear window sleep too night I myself. Cant hot work close close sleep want work need work sleep sleep ask screaming time don't…

Officer Oren stepped out of his cruiser and approached the man. He asked if he was alright. The man looked up.
“Oh me? just practicing some poetry. Can I help you, officer?”
“No, that's alright. Have a good one!”
The police car pulled away. When it was out of sight the man exploded into millions of tiny screaming aliens.