2am. The eyes open. The small television is snowing, the blue-tinted white building pressure against the glass; the ocean crashing against the one inch tweeter, pleading with reality for its release. A million ping pong balls on mousetraps in a cascading series of reactions, as seen from space. Or a tight close up of the vibrating sub-atomic particles of the eye of a needle. Possibly a tiny camel.
The eyelids pull and push. The tiny alternator turns over and over. A ring of starvation in the hosts belly.