To Pique Or To Poke, That Is The Question
Voices, chatter, indistinct but incessant, through insulated walls and slightly open windows. Murmurs and laughter with synchronised bass line accompaniment.
Sometimes soporific, occasionally numbing, yet frequently (always?) teasing the edge of my restless anxiety.
And later, drinkers, stumbling back to cars and front doors, with midnight farewells and familiar voices. Not anxious, no, just interest and curiosity, different but unclear why.
One piques my interest, the other pokes my fears.
The lopsided panic of an insomniac with no trouble sleeping.
