She arrives home, the sun at her back. Home is empty. Everywhere, empty. Silence. The bass pulses in her blood. The earth calls but now is not the time to give up. The day changes only once sleep comes; this day must not end yet. It must be held tight, even if there is no reason why. A thread in the hand, no matter how thin, an attempt to control at least something at 8:12 in the morning.