Here is the nail I am biting. Tonight’s taxi finds me listening to Regina Spektor singing about fidelity. My mouth is open, and I am curious about how many teeth I have, try to get my tongue to count them, but my tongue is tired and can’t distinguish where one round dimpled sharp turns into another. My tongue was not made for counting, that is what it tells me. I am waiting for this night to pull through me, because really, all I want is the light.