The buzz of a fly past through his ear at one in the afternoon, when he was about to slide to the most elusive of luxuries, he hadn’t slept for the past two days, he needed one, and a fly was the last thing he wanted to hear. He sprayed Baygon and shut the blinds, and he was sweating. There was no cold water. There were only bright lights and the dust getting heavy. There was only the neighbor, a Korean pastor, playing a church song from his organ.