It's four am on the Vegas strip, and I'm out jogging. Left from your condo and was shocked when I wasn't blinded by the neon. I have bruises on my knees and I think I might have broken a toe (we moved furniture for eight hours; my arms trembled at the sight of another Louis XVI chair). There's nobody out here at four am…nobody except the street cleaners and taxi drivers and people too drunk to remember which high rise resort they're staying in. It's not hot, yet, but I can feel the shimmering promise of another triple digit day. My shirt isn't sticking to my back, yet. I don't know how long I can keep this up; jogging with a broken toe is never a good idea. I can't hear the drunken outbursts, the 'hey mama, what's your name?' whistles and catcalls don't faze me. My heart beats in triplicate and I'm thinking of turning around. One more mile and I'll be able to fly.
It's four am in London, and I have a flight at noon. I've packed. I'm not sure how ready I am to go back to New York. I stare out of my window, across nothingness towards nothingness. If I squint, I tell myself I can see the ocean, but it isn't true. I tell myself I can see a lot of things. My window is wide, but I can't open it further than a little crack. Palahniuk says it's to keep people from jumping, but I think it's to keep people from smelling the dank air. I called London home once (before), and I may well again. But for now, I'm standing, watching the lightening of the sky and wondering what yesterday will bring to me again.
I missed a flight, and it's four am in Washington DC. I should be angrier than I am, but that would be taking everything out of context. My whole life is nothing but four AMs, and it's taken me a while to admit that I like it that way. Wham, bam, I've become an adult. I can order drinks on planes, stay out all night, make horrible choices and maybe a few good ones. The airport is practically empty, a group of kids just flown in from somewhere in Europe, sleeping upright in uncomfortable chairs. I have nothing but a fiver in my pocket and the exchange office isn't open. There is nowhere to be, and for one blank moment I feel scared. Then my eyes open…
It's four am in Tokyo. I don't know anything else. My brain is miles away and two days late. I'd look at my watch but I haven't set it. My phone alarm keeps going off but it's pointless; I have nowhere to be. My phone beeps again, a text message. Someone down the hall is awake, and somehow he has my number. Of course I know who it is, but answering it obliges my brain to catch up with my fingers, and I can't be bothered.
It's five am on the Vegas strip, and I'm running back home to you. Each breath I take burns and the sky is bright now. It's going to be a warm day. I know I left you sleeping, and when I come back I know you'll still be sleeping. Funny, how my life has revolved, changed, and you're still dreaming, curled under a sheet. I almost envy you.