By Elena Faverio

During the night, I sneak over to the acro yoga studio.

I do this at exactly 2:53 AM, because it’s a seven minute walk to the studio,

if I’m moving at a speed that isn’t suspicious.

And most murders take place around 3:00 AM.

They say this is because the human body is at its lowest natural biorhythm.

All floppy and invertebrate. 

Vulnerable. That’s the word I was looking for. 

I don’t know why I said invertebrate.

It takes a lot of spine to sneak towards the acro yoga studio at 2:54 AM.

By the way, is it possible to move at an unsuspicious speed down a dimly lit suburban street at 2:54 AM?

Excuse me, 2:55 AM now.

One time, my neighbor Pam (that bitch) called the cops on me for standing at my mailbox.

I decided to open a letter that was marked “IMPORTANT”

and it was, actually, important

so I stood there reading for about 10 minutes, during which time Pam (that absolute bitch)

who has seen me everyday for the last 28 years,

decided there was some crazed criminal stealing my mail.

Those are Pam’s words, not mine. I read them in the police report.

“Crazed criminal.”

Would a crazed criminal be moving stealthily through the suburban night at 2:58 AM towards the sleeping, floppy, tender, invertebrate, defenseless acro yoga studio?

Maybe.

All I know is this: it’s it or me, tonight. This ends now.

I could almost do it, once. 

The linoleum and the seersucker,

The fucking in missionary position,

The casualness of backyard beekeeping, killing hives year after year without thought,

The lawns, trimmed to “¼ inch, all by the same ride on mower

The rounded hedges,

Coffee o’clock, and it’s five o’clock somewhere, and

“God Bless this Home” on new wood made to look like old wood.

Almost.

It’s 2:59 AM, and I am standing in front of the acro yoga studio.