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    I spend the night restless, drowning in a canopy of fading light from the a lamp across the room, occassionally reaching over to read another chapter of the book tucked underneath the rough cotton sheet of the pillowcase. It’s stained in leftover foundation and flicks of mascara, reminisce of impromptu naps just before dusk. There’s a smell there if I adjust my head the right way, drop my neck and curl my body into a cocoon; a faint trace of menthol from cigarettes is burned into the strands of my hair and fibers of the fabric wrapped around me. I count the seconds, minutes, and hours under my breath, let…