He lay in the dark. Looking at the ceiling with the bright streak of streetlsmp light that snuck through the curtains. The bed sheets tucked in tight at the bottom of the bed, the way his cleaning lady had been doing it for years; the way he had been asking her not to do it for years. The quiet outside, still, no cars, no raccoon fights, no pedestrians stumbling home sloppy from the bar, only the faint train whistle only heard on nights like these. And for whatever reason he thought about Wanda. Thought about her crazy laugh; the way she laughed with her whole face and her whole body; the way it exploded out from such a small person, the way it always made him smile. The way he didn’t really know anything about her. Did she have siblings? Where did she grow up? what was she passionate about? And as much as he tries on nights like these he still can’t recollect. He didn’t love her. Though he said it aloud one night? Not because he was expecting it in return? Not because he felt that that way? But because for whatever reason it wasn’t working. They had had gotten to the chasm