I hug a Russian boy with cold hands
That protect me from the warmth
Wispy fragments of my dream
Begin to form a storm 

In Russia, near a burning mansion
I sit with two tall men
We spin on porta-potty swings 
​With golden lights that blink 
​
Back to living with my hacker
In a home that’s not really mine
Solving a crime and eating hummus
Living a life I’m trying to find