There were howling wolves outside my apartment all night.

I live on the top floor of a six-story building, in the corner, and all night long the wind howled like you wouldn’t believe — long, irregular, animal-like wails as it whipped around across the brick and terra cotta features of my building. I usually sleep like a bag of rocks. The building is on one of the busiest intersections in Seattle and I’m used to noise — ambulances, crack heads shouting at each other, jackhammers on Sunday mornings, all of it. This wind was loud, hellish, and unrelenting. I’d say I got less than an hour of good sleep. After a while I went and tried to sleep on my couch away from any windows. I could still hear it, and I don’t really fit on that couch. Then I went back to bed and opened the window above my head just a crack, thinking maybe there was just a problem with air pressure, that if I opened my window the sound would die. This was just before dawn. The blinds lifted in the rush of air and flags of cold wind ran through me and ruffled the sheets and the noise, if anything, got louder. It’s morning and I’m exhausted. I feel like I’ve been beat up by wolves.