I can’t sleep, as usual.
My third night in this strange bed and I’m still not used to it. I’m just lying here in these scratchy sheets, listening to this place’s weird version of night, where the lights are never fully turned off, where the doors are never fully closed, where there is always at least one person awake and on guard.
Lilana is the assistant counselor with hall duty tonight. I can hear her knitting that hideous thing she calls a sweater, the click, click, click
of those plastic needles. I can hear the deep, watery wheezes of a fat woman with health problems and a...