by Nino Cipri
The TV is small, just like everything in your apartment. Onscreen, there's a woman sitting behind a desk. Her dark hair hangs straight down the sides of her cheeks, and her pale face looks like a full moon, suspended in the darkness.
"Are you home alone?" she asks. "You are, aren't you? It's just you, there. And just me, in here. Just the two of us. Alone together, here at the end of the night."