and then cathey showed up and we hung out
As hard as I may try, I just can't fall out of love with four-o-clock in the morning. I want to, desperately. Let me live in the day, happy with the sun, and then fall asleep to the light of the silvery moon. The moon, the moon, to the light of the silvery moon. But I can't. I'm too far gone. It's that private ownership, when no one else in the entire city is alive except the awake few who loiter and wander and drive large vehicles through too narrow city streets. It's the fact that the racoons are out and clutching onto branches or trotting across alleys. The only people who are making much noise at this time of night are either drunk or stoned or both or other off of their asses, perched in lofty places and puzzling through the mysteries of equilibrium. The street corner is mine. It could be yours, but you're asleep. That's the difference between you and I right now. You're twisting up blankets somewhere and I'm just catching a second wind. The traffic lights and I have conversations. You can hear the blinking, when they turn. Faces caught in the headlights are wide and white and startled, and they quickly turn away to whatever business kept them out in these empty roads. Only a few more hours until dawn. A bit more time spent up, and I could hear the birds beginning to wake.
I'm tired, though. Too much bicycling and drinking and kicking and swerving clean lines on dark asphalt. Too much laughing and driving and talking and just laying around.
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Then when you wake up the next day sunlight is of course just pouring itself in through the window strong. There's new pink curtains and you can hear everyone else outside already awake and driving by or yelling across the street at one another and it's okay, you don't have to worry about this one because everybody's been trying it one for size for you for the last six hours. There's nothing wrong with you just walking down the front steps and joining them, now. And most of course, when I say you, I mean me.
I'm tired, though. Too much bicycling and drinking and kicking and swerving clean lines on dark asphalt. Too much laughing and driving and talking and just laying around.
----
Then when you wake up the next day sunlight is of course just pouring itself in through the window strong. There's new pink curtains and you can hear everyone else outside already awake and driving by or yelling across the street at one another and it's okay, you don't have to worry about this one because everybody's been trying it one for size for you for the last six hours. There's nothing wrong with you just walking down the front steps and joining them, now. And most of course, when I say you, I mean me.