it is one of those nights. maybe you know what i'm talking about. i guess it doesn't matter one way or the other. this is one of those nights. the lights are out, the computer is on and it is quiet.
but not really that quiet.
there is the light drone of the fan the upstairs neighbor has placed on the floor of his unit. the refrigerator has just come to life, so there is that sound. an air conditioning unit, 3 houses up the street is laboring to cool a small bedroom on a night when the windows should be open. a couple walking outside my window is discussing the quality of a Beatles cover band. it was agreed that they do a pretty good job.
there are hundreds of cars combusting down the freeway. miles away, but not the sound.
the modem lights are oscillating. they are silent, but the motion is making me think of chimes, or ice cracking on trees after a mid-january storm.
and then there is my mind, a mind that Alan Michael Parker wrote . . .
Oh, how i hate my mind,
all those memories
that have invented their own memories.
except i'm not thinking about what happened, but what might.
ok. good.
