Tracktown, USA
In Eugene, I slept on the couch of an Herbalist. If, in slumber, I leaned too far to my left, the cushions would slump, sink, at a diagonal, pulling my unconscious body down with them. At 3 in the morning I’d awake to the sound of crickets outside the double doors a nuzzle of black fur, a cat named Mortimer, pawing, climbing his way towards me, then settling on my chest, his breathing slowing…