Suspension-Depression (or, Four Walled Comfort) Foamy teeth stay waiting. Galaxy of toothpaste and water, spit swirling down the spherical lung of a slow breathing drain. (The beauty of the first week in a $450 rental at 3:15 a.m. I called 778-bla-blah.) And a wayward droplet hanging from my chin drips into the stagnant froth (Here are the keys.) without elegance sending my own germ bubbles past my eyelid. Sudden tungsten gleam. (It is extremely hot. Or just yellow.) And a foresight of silent anger escaping in the humourous everyday. A smile (spit back in your own face). And smile lines punctuate the realisation: there is extreme danger in a state of stagnant suspension where the sparks of self awareness hit nothing but a shield of quiet contentment and subdued numbness. Spit. 778-bla-blah. Hello Ryan. The drain is blocked and the toilet started leaking, but I am happy and will keep the place. Please fix it tomorrow. Night. - Shazia Hafiz Ramji