The 4 AM Watch

Dear Delyara, I’m sitting in the breakroom, the fluorescent lights humming a low, lonely tune that matches the ringing in my ears. I’ve been awake for twenty hours. Outside the window, London is just a collection of orange streetlights and silhouettes. I watched a fox pick its way through a pile of bin bags across the street—he looked more purposeful than I feel right now. I’m drinking tea that tastes like the paper cup it’s in, wondering if I’ll ever break out of this cycle of trading my nights for a paycheck. Sometimes I feel like a ghost haunting my own life, waiting for the sun to come up so I can finally disappear into sleep.