Morgan’s alarm went off around 6:30. She didn’t have to be at the bookstore until 9, but always allowed time for a healthy number of snooze depressions. Bzzzzzzzzzzz – smack! Back to the popcorn munching dream.

And so it went. Bzzzzzzzzzz – smack. Dream. Bzzzzzzzzzzz – smack. Dream.

Her lover found this extremely irritating. Diana was the manager of the Slurp n’ Chirp, and most nights shed barely get to sleep before that alarm shit started. Despite pleas, Morgan was as stubborn about this as she was with everything. Onoffonoffonoffonoffonoffonoffonoff. Christ, thought Diana, I can’t do this anymore…

Morgan woke from her dream.

When she walked in, he thought, "At least I know I'll get laid tonight," and was immediately disgusted with himself for thinking it. He resolved tonight would be different. The party was teeming with eager young talent, and he worked the room. He was charming and funny. He said the right things at the right times, and made all the right moves. But nothing changes. By the end of the night, they were together again. As they fucked each other, both thought of tomorrow, when they would part ways in silence. Not for the first time, or the last.

Look. There. See? There it is again. He’s been doing it for over an hour. I don’t know. I haven’t really noticed a pattern, but I’ve only been paying attention for about fifteen minutes. Huh? He’s doing it with his porch light. On. Off. On. Off. Short. Long. Long. Short. That’s what I thought, but I don’t know enough about Morse code. Do you? I know Michael does. Yeah, he does. He learned that shit when he was in the service. I’ve started writing it down. Man… maybe he’s in trouble. What? Yeah, he probably is just fucking with me.