Me's nights which are so steep. Me's days which still are deep.

I knew this guy once. He started a pile of socks by his bed. Started stacking them up high. His name was Me. I only knew him for a little while. We grew apart over the years, but I remember, among a few other things, that darned pile of dirty socks. I don't think his room smelled like them. It smelled like something altogether different after a night's sleep. But I remember the pile, and I thought, "How odd that there're socks just stacking up here. I saw him taking them off before going to bed. That is how the pile started. Before a nap too. Sometimes he couldn't tell which were used and which weren't. So what could he do but put on a new, clean pair? That's better than risking some day or week old sock being on your foot, only making smelly feet smellier.

He never really talked about his pile. I mean, who would? But it was right there when you would open the door. Me would be at his computer, checking email, writing one or listening to Bob Dylan or growing old. He did all those things a lot. Time just seemed to pass him by. He'd look up out the window and see the window looking back. So where did he look then? At books, movies, things that didn't look back, but that he could see into clearly.

Who cares if it wasn't good form to keep banana peels in a bowl by his desk? Me did it anyway. And a little toy block with the first letter of his name wedged into the crotch of a bunny on top of his speaker. That is what it is.

And two nice little glass paperweights that Me's sister gave him. They are beautiful, and he has never found a way to repay her. She got them in Spain. He was surprised she would think of him.

There's an eraser on his desk that he uses to take away things.

There's a bottle of Instant Hand Sanitizer on his desk. A not so subtle hint from his sister. That was one of the lesser appreciated gifts.

On the corner of his desk, there is a little piece of paper folded in three. Like a leaflet, promoting dreams. He keeps it there to remind him. Shines a light on it too. The shadow gets so big and draped against the wall.

When coherence baffles him and chaos makes sweet sense, he takes a smooth dive into bed. There he lays until it does him no good. From there he rises.

The time on the phone says the gettin's good. It's a promise given by someone who also thought it might be cute for him to have a pumpkin ring.

Me thanks you.