The smog sits like a heavy curtain over every distant source of light, and the street lamps have blinked out of existence. So, half-blind without your glasses, you stand, paralyzed. You carry the twilight of the prairies in the few good memories of your youth, but now you cower among a cluster of black towers. Your clocks have all lost hours, and so have you. Wildfires and rolling blackouts. You snuff your candle out and sleep, but, unfamiliar with your new house, every noise enters your dreams. It tears at their loosened seams until you wake. Old friends, displaced or abandoned: you never expect them to remain. Like even the brightest of electrical devices, they're extinguished at the strangest times of day. Chorus. Every noise enters your dreams, servicing their hidden themes, until…in silence, you're waiting. In silence, you're waiting for them.