Midnight Fridge

It was another ordinary and orderly Sunday afternoon. I was folding (and sniffing) the laundry, and AFN radio started playing this song that went like, "The weatherman says goodnight... the refrigerator stops, and suddenly it's quiet."

And suddenly, flashback memories of the studio apartment on Landfair Ave.: how the on-and-off whirrs of the pale fridge made me feel so all alone in the dark. And how, somehow, though I really don't want to admit, the howls of those frat guys across the street canceled out the sound and made me feel better.