I sleep with the glow of the city as a night light. Orange. I'm not a cosmopolitan girl. There's a haze of language around my head. Static. Hard angles and heat between the bedsheets. I'm not a cosmopolitan girl. The tree outside my window shedding its leaves for wintertime. We are outlines, the parking spaces behind it sketched in thick white. I'm not a cosmopolitan girl. How we are sad, a wordless space, I see it down the alleyway, old cobblestones backlit by the security light that's always on. How we are sad.