Before the bleak rays of dawn trickle through the curtain blinds, the night drowns in its silence, the essence of life made conspicuous by its absence. While the town lies in sweet slumber, somewhere, some place, a bright orange glob begins to stir.

The snail crawls towards the other end, ever nearing it’s goal, painfully, slowly, but surely. In the night’s stillness, patience weighs down, sleep forming the lead blocks pulling down the covers over my retina; as I stare at the screen. I watch the bright orange snail stumble on, with eyes half closed. Thoughts half formed.  Dreams half dreamt.

The progress bar fills in its recess; the snail disappears. The page refreshes. I begin to type…