Some early mornings I wake and I float up and out of my bed, out my open window and down the long streets of the residential compound, the warm air from the tunnels lifting me up. I float past the block buildings, all identical, and I drift through their open windows and float above the people while they sleep, three inches from their faces, feeling their warm breath come out from their body into the room. I float there, watching their eyelids flutter as they wince through dreams.

Once in a while, I will bash their heads in with a VCR.