The night is quiet and black, with the pool five stories down adding an alien glow to the ground. A chandelier overhead keeps the room dim, though my face is lit by artificial laptop light.

With the speed of Muhammad Ali, a knockout punch hits me hard.

I stop to catch myself on the table. The sleeping pills have started to kick my teeth in, brain and all.

I steady my mind by staring at the blinking cursor on an almost-finished page. The words are blurred and blended, but logical.

Hands and eyelids growing heavy, I write one final line — the title.

“fighting off the sleeping pills.”

Goodnight.