two hundred ninety-six. [Urban Insomnia.]
Calliope isn’t used to living here: the city is so loud at night, with traffic sounds and people sounds, even this early in the morning. She gets up, pulls on a sweater overtop of her nightgown, and heads down the three flights of stairs towards the kitchen - then is distracted by a combination of sound and light. She peeks into the living-room where Dr Biró is watching tv. “Don’t you ever sleep,” she asks, shyly.
“Four hours a night, sometimes,” the scientist answers.
Calliope nods, sits on the floor, because sitting on the sofa with him would feel like an intrusion.
“Four hours a night, sometimes,” the scientist answers.
Calliope nods, sits on the floor, because sitting on the sofa with him would feel like an intrusion.