Plaster hides the janitor’s secrets by remaining still, but when the mop strikes the ceiling and sprinkles of stucco speckle the carpet, it’s hands & knees posture that guides the crawl to pinch the bits of stucco and dispose of them in the proper receptacle. This type of secret is what perpetuates Midnight’s originality. The astrologist predicted a Mercury Retrograde, She printed this prediction in the newspaper. The moon diminishes its value by hiding behind the clouds, but moonlight focuses the contours of the clouds, blobs of darkness decorate Midnight. An assortment of authorities progress through the quiet streets, paranoid of noise and life, paranoid of squirrels scuttling, paranoid of passing citizens driving their jalopies with the windows down to taste Midnight. Beside a window, positioned on a couch sits a single-man. Light from an infomercial contours his face like moonlight bending the shadows of streetlights fatigued from constant function. A citizen drives her jalopy beneath a fatigued streetlight, her headlights fill the void. She embeds her tongue between her teeth and gnaws on the muscular organ, it tastes like green peppers and white rice. Earlier, during dinner her guest said her laugh was awkward and hard to interpret. She didn’t understand his critique, but after it was stated she refused laughter, instead she hummed. The hum seemed an appropriate filler and it proved effective in its essence to quell the awkwardness, awarding her a fuck before Midnight. She wants Taco Bell but their drive-thru is closed. Everything belongs to Midnight including capitalism. What happens to the stones in darkness, happens to the pillows, happens to the fireplaces, happens to the closed refrigerators and sealed packages waiting out their deliveries. Janitor enters his car, he notices bits of stucco on his thigh, he brushes them off and places the keys in the ignition. He wonders what’s on television while venturing home, his thoughts slowly fade to white-noise. He finds pleasure in repetition.