How quiet is Hell—how it unnerves you. Usually, panic throttles you awake but today you wake up feeling. You do not expect gentleness—you expect birds beating themselves blind against windows, no mouths. Driven mad sex or sex or Xanax, or love he tells you there is worth in not feeling normal all the time. Everything is yours for a while. Today the neighbors are good neighbors. Hell on a quiet day is still Hell. What is there left to fear? You are prepared for the end of restfulness: birds waiting on the down power lines, birds on blown out chimneys, silent opera of canaries—the birds always know first— birds everywhere, birds everywhere now.