Postcard to A Lost Weekend X. 05.13.03

It is times like these when living at the end of the earth leaves a little to be desired, with my feet sore from standing and swaying, when I have not slept in my bed since Thursday night, when it is almost 4 AM and I walk home instead of taking a ridiculously overpriced car service.

There are about ten other people in cars, walking, standing, along my path, and I always wonder what they are doing out under the cover of night.

Probably the same thing as me.

The trees are coming in, finally, making some dark paths even darker but in a relaxing sort of way, adding a pleasant obscuring to the streetlamps and creating images and shadows enough to make my heart race, but not enough to strike late night fear into my heart.

The air smells wet and feels warm with each breeze. And though I would like to sleep for a good long time, I also want to sit out on the front steps and recline.

I see the cats who have taken residence on a car in my driveway, gesture for them—you don’t have to find a home, but you got to get the f*ck up outta this driveway—and put key in lock, realizing that the whole sit and recline fantasy? F- that dog, I am crazy tired.

Good Night, Neighborhood.