The thing about not caring is, things happen but it doesn't really matter.

I couldn't sleep, so I snuck over to the new house.

I have a key.
I was given a key.
No, I rented a key.
Big difference.

I know because I've been given a lot of stuff. Without even noticing, sometimes.

I have a key on a shoelace. A black shoelace. Everything has turned black, which is curious, because I tend to get down on the floor. I sit down wherever I am. I've huddled hot ovens and radiators, in window light or under the desk with the tower. A cuddler of dust bunnies, shedding long peroxide curls everywhere. The only black I could imagine is the kind with... grease grass and strange other stains. But I'm trying now, huh? There is no worse sight than a person trying too hard.

Dark 4 am stairs of an empty house that I do not know, but I have not come in through the window this time. Into the attic, down onto the floor under the skylight. This is what I am paying for- sure as hot ugly hell, this must be what I want.