When you see me bright and shining here, at 3671 Hudson I have the shades pulled down. I open them for the sunrise, then close them when it is high in the sky. At sunset, I open them again. Sometimes. Other weeks they stay shut for days while I type, printing off stacks of pages in neat rows. On days like today, listening to The Guess Who and Janis Joplin, I open the windows wide. The shades are up and I don’t notice what I am wearing, or if I am wearing next to nothing. The music floods through the screens to tell the neighborhood how I feel young and I dance. I dance through the first floor apartment with the sunshine laying tracks over the carpet and the kitchen floor. I imagine they all are watching and I am on a stage–one that I envisioned when I was eight–and I dance on through the day until the music is finished.