DC is quiet in its hangover morning. The streets are littered with the corpses of yesterdays festivities: spent firecrackers, empty beer cans, the wrappers of salted and sweetened foods which blow their way against fences and curbs. The street sweepers will catch them all tomorrow in the early morning hours as they quietly work their brooms... all wondering if they didn't maybe spend their rent money a little too quickly.

Len texts his angry texts, thumbs flying over the keys in his many reconsiderations. Stephanie wonders where tonights bed is going to be. Derek is sitting at a table in the day room of the hospital spinning out words in poems crafted like bombs. Cindy sits back to relax and listens to music, most likely Iron Maiden. A heavy-set man grabs his 4-year-old, overly excited daughter roughly around her arm in his meaty fist to drag her to a cafe table and food. He looks up to see my frown and loosens his grip. She is silent, looking at him, also. Fingermarks are red on ivory flesh. She eats quietly, head bowed. No complaints. Someone laughs. Another person swears.

A firework cracks in the distance.