¶ he is unhealthy. a complete rail. he feels no hunger, and loses pounds he doesn't have. the season's cold seeps into his bones and spikes into a head that's barely warm with wine and smoke. it's the thousand little obsessions, tasking his consciousness in intervals, that keeps him lucid... ¶ from somewhere, dark and barren, a bassoon cries. ¶ i bought him a little robot to strap around his arm, to help keep him from falling asleep, and he wore it tonight, though i know it pained him to do so. and so he sat, at the caballeros' table, ignoring the feast and the festivities, knitting trinkets for fingertips, undisturbed by the foreign conversation, the flamenco, the flirts, and the fighting and the whirrrring automation on his arm. he may no longer be one of the cool kids, los ninos, but i appreciated the effort. after i got him home, and got him in bed, he whimpered and made me promise to be there in the morning. i hid my sadness and smiled, saying i would. and so i shall... ¶ from somewhere, dark and hallow, a cello moans.