. . . paranoia . . . at 3:30 am, in a deep sleep, am jolted awake by voices shouting "Hello" repeatedly . . . next moment at my bedroom door flashlights scan and blind me . . . two police ask who I am . . . "I live here." . . . "You live here?" the belligerent younger skinhead male, his blue shining form taking shape as I flick on the lights, asks incredulously . . . "Yes!" I shout back heart pounding barely realizing I'm out of bed, confused and . . . "Can we see some identification?" . . . stumble around, find my wallet and hand over a drivers licence . . . why am I thinking I should find my passport . . . "Someone reported your door wide open and we came over to take a look." . . . the tone is still belligerent . . . maybe that's just normal hostile cop talk . . .

. . . the little dick is feeding off my bewilderment with a tone of absolute authority . . . actually he seems scared . . ."Ah you see I just did the laundry and since there was such a nice wind thought I'd open the door to speed the drying . . . Guess I forgot to close it". . . the female officer asks if I'm not worried someone has broken in . . . her partner is already going down the staircase to the basement . . . "Mind if we look around?" . . .

. . . follow him . . . I mind and wonder where the police were the past years on the other five occasions when six windows were smashed and graffiti was sprayed on the wall and my car was torched and mail was stolen from my mailbox and . . . yes I mind but mumble, "Sure take a look around." . . . flashlights splay the darkness like all those CSI shows . . . sure glad the musician friend, a guest camped in the basement for a little while, is gone with all his uh . . . recreational sedatives . . . but then the door probably wouldn't have been open . . . they enter closets, invade the furnace room, assail the bathroom and head back outside . . . "Better close your door." . . . "Have a good night." the female says in a cheery salutation . . . she tries to swing the door shut but it shakes the railing . . .

. . . undo the latch . . . the door drifts silently into the frame and lock it . . . am stunned . . . try to sleep and eventually do . . . not before twitching at every slight creak from the floor boards or rasp from the tree branches rubbing the rooftop . . . suddenly a scratching metal on pavement shatters the early dawn light now brightening the room . . . someone is shovelling . . . snow in July . . . vaguely recall the caretaker from the apartment next door . . . shovels the walk at five in the morning during winter . . . it's him cleaning cigarette butts and fallen leaves . . . loud, methodical and passionate about his job . . . sheesh this is crazy . . . the dog across the street barks . . . her name is annie . . . still a pup sometimes she barks at nothing . . . close all the windows . . . pull the goose feathered duvet over my head . . . curl up clutching pain in the lower back . . . body has not appreciated bolting out of bed from a dead sleep . . . maybe need some advil . . . no . . . breathe slow and deep . . . sleep follows . . . dream . . .

:: note :: . . . this happened the night of the 25th after posting searches . . . paranoia is a cultivation of hunches, lateralisms, frank anomalies . . .