Backstories: Sleepless in Odessa 15-16/2/2010

The loudest sound is the motorised drone of the fridge in the kitchen switching on and off, the most constant the exam-hall tick, tick, tick of the clock and the workings of the toilet cistern through the wall behind my head – like water running constantly from a tap down the side of a sink. Far off, a fog horn sounds from the lighthouse at the port, a moan of pain that goes on and on and on. Cathedral bells intone the hours one on top of another, like a roomful of children reciting their times tables. (A single toll marks each half hour in between.) Through my weightless eyelids, the light bulbs in the ceiling are dark stars spread across the sky. Sometime after six, greyish light starts to streak in through the gap in the blinds. I reach out to reset the alarm I already know I won’t be using for another hour in bed.