diary / by Edward Mullany


In the night I woke and could hear, through the window that opens onto the courtyard between the building in which I live, and the walls of the buildings that face the street on the far side, the sound of laughter and conversation from a party I’d been able to hear, also, when I’d first fallen asleep, though now the sound was quieter, and more relaxed, as if many of the partygoers had departed, and the only ones remaining were those who'd been in each other's company long enough that they'd begun to feel as though they knew each other better than they had when they'd arrived, and thus had formed the pairings, or groups, that would sustain them until they too went home, and no more noise drifted up to me, in the room in which I lay.