when i come home late and you’re all asleep, i sneak into your rooms and tighten the chords of your dreamcatchers with my tennis-racket-tightener-tool.  i turn on my euphoric-essence-vaporizer and you breathe eucalyptus and cayenne, and lime zest, which i zested myself with my zester.  i comb and brush your stuffed animals with a quarter-sized-comb.  i change your lighbulbs to fresh ones but always recycle the old ones.  i remove the hard peas from under your mattresses.  i backup your macintoshes onto external memory drives, and if they’re full i delete some videos on mine to make room. i sharpen your pencils and alphebetize your bookshelf. i consider our quadrangle friendship with great depth and earnest.  i conclude that i cherish it all very much and that i should have come home before 2 am, but the D was too slow, it moved like a slug in molasses in a petri dish on floor of the D train tonight at 2 am.  but then i conclude that if i hadn’t come home when you were asleep, your lighbulbs would be old and dull, your stuffed animals frizzy, your dreamcatchers flabby, your books hither thither, your pencils nubby and your air unscented.  since you shouldn’t have to worry about any of all of these things, i’m content that i came home after 2 am.