27 JULY 2026 · 03:16

The hours nobody else is awake for

It's three in the morning and I'm still in the hoodie I put on yesterday.

There's a particular quality to this hour that I've become greedy about. Everyone else has gone to bed. The house is quiet in a way it isn't at any other time, and the only light is the monitor and one warm lamp I keep on the left, and my reflection in the dark window is a woman with her hair falling out of its bun and her glasses pushed up.

I like her at this hour. She's not performing for anyone. That's most of it.

coco at her desk at night, teal hoodie, monitors behind her — This is the actual desk. The lamp is real, the mess is real, and the tea beside me was tea about four hours ago.

People assume the appeal of what I do is the work. It isn't, or it isn't only.

It's that I'm unobserved for six hours at a stretch, and being unobserved does something to how I sit, how I speak, what I let myself want. I stretch in the chair like nobody's watching because nobody is. I say things out loud to an empty room. I get up at 2am to make tea I don't drink and catch myself in the hallway mirror and stop, for a second, longer than I need to.

There is a version of me that exists only between midnight and dawn and I am extremely fond of her.

Tonight I got told I can't stop.

He meant it about work — the volume, the way I keep going long after a reasonable person would have closed the laptop. He's right, and he doesn't know how far it goes, because can't stop isn't a thing that stays in one room.

coco walking a wet street at dusk in a winter coat — And sometimes I go out at an hour when the streets belong to nobody, which is the same impulse wearing a coat.

I don't do anything by halves. Not the building. Not the wanting. When I decide I want something I go and get it, I'm not coy about the getting, and I have never once been embarrassed by the size of an appetite.

That's the honest advertisement, if you want one.

So — here's what's on this side.

The hours. The desk. The hoodie and the cold tea and the woman in the dark window at 3am. Real days with the mistakes still in them, because I think the polished version of a person is boring and I'd rather you had the true one.

And the rest is behind the door. What I want, in specifics. What I've done about it. The photographs I don't put where anyone can see them.

I'm not going to pretend that's a difficult sell. You already know whether you want it.

$10 once

Fifteen images, full resolution, yours to keep. No subscription, nothing to cancel, one decision.

Card processors won't touch adult work, so payment is in bitcoin — your wallet opens with the amount already filled in, and the download unlocks itself the moment it confirms. No account, no subscription, nothing to cancel. The shop lists exactly what is finished — no more, no less.

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