the morning alarm

I wake up to the sounds of ruffling, squirrels scrummaging through the trash cans, outside my window. It always sounds like someone has thrown a cat into an empty bin and then let it go wild, the echoing thumps and scratching noises louder than it should be. My friend found a squirrel dragging a crisps bag through the snow once, and another squirrel treating the trash like it was in a ball pit. That’s how I know the sounds are squirrels, and sometimes I see them outside my window, even though the blinds are drawn. I can peek through the blinds but no one can look in, which makes it especially good for changing naked because my shower is too small and humid to try.

And so when the sky lightens up this morning, I hear the squirrels digging through the trash, and I am irritated because it’s too early. They’re so loud this time, and I know it’s because the food is at the bottom. I crawl out of bed to chase them away by tapping at the window like I usually do. As I part the dusty blinds, and they crinkle. I look through, nose also to the glass, and see a homeless man digging unceremoniously through the trash.