I have never seen five AM dressed like this before—all radiance and splendor. A soft light falls from our neighbor’s door and cascades on to the pavement, echoing the street lights and small town skyline. Five is elegant in her post-evening gown, partially hung over, yet still half drunk from last night’s outrageous affairs. She poses such gorgeous catastrophe of a lopsided up do and greasy curls; a whitehead-sprinkled face and sparkling eyes; the cautious realization of breaking through while holding back. Soon she will slip into slumber as sunlight breaks the curse. Tomorrow, again renewed, she will begin to prepare for the next morning’s inevitable: a repeat fiasco of society-admired mayhem while she feigns interest, wiping mascara from her lid.