Everyone else gave in to decaf years ago. Bad hearts, they’ve got, or they don’t want to be kept up. Gerald felt that coffee was the root cause of my insomnia but I never could believe that and I still don’t. A strong cup in the morning hardly keeps me from a nap in the afternoon. It is only in the night I lie awake, alert and tossing, denied entry to the vault of sleep. Sometimes, when I know in my bones there will be no rest no matter what, I get out of bed and go make myself a cup and drink it while I watch TV or pace the house or sit out on the back porch and listen to the night: crickets and groaning air conditioners and faraway cars. Tonight I’ve found a documentary about the ruins of São Paulo Cathedral in Macau. Built by Jesuits in the 1500s, operated for three hundred years or so, burnt down in 1835. Why never rebuilt? The program doesn’t say. But the stone facade survived the fire and has stood freely ever since. There’s a long shot of it silhouetted in sunset light, then a station break.
