He has trouble sleeping.
There is something in his teeth. It broadcasts.
It broadcasts Spanish soap operas, Finnish recipes, antique numbers stations.
The numbers stations are his favourite.
Sparse classical music. A voice. 1…13…28…6…
The sounds rush over him. He used to write down each number, now he just listens. The voices he doesn’t understand. Sometimes he wishes the music would play longer.
All day he heard these things.
But when he’s in bed, alone, eyes closed and mouth slightly open the sounds lull him.
A smattering of Vivaldi.
A numbers sequence.
His teeth buzz in a pleasant way.
Sleep washes over him. A voice. 3…65…42.
And he’s asleep, dreaming of Spanish dramas.