The fan is whir-whir-whiring. The slow breeze is traversing the room, hitting my toes. I have them sticking out of the sleeping bag. I am overheated. I am cold. I am stuck to the bed. The springs of the mattress are poking into my leg. I reflexively turn my body away from the light. A passing car is illuminating my predicament. It's 2:35 am. I feel myself slightly sticking against the plastic sheet. It's the kind they use for the kids that wet the bed. There is condensation slipping down the window pane. There is a little snore a few feet away from my head.