One-Thousand-and-One American Nights

Night #4.

The world of the living and the world of the dead overlap like the body the soul. One is invisible, giving life to the visible. Do you see the sun, or its light? Do you see space, or the things suspended in it? These metaphors are not perfect, but the cell walls do not care. The security guards do not hear over TV sets and evening beers.

I've heard lyrics in favorite songs talk about my situation, so I pace the grounds, aware of my restraints: mountains to my right, oceans to my left, and I think about the silversmiths in old ages.

How does it feel to be eternally second best? Your very trade defines your position. Your metal will never raise in glorious usurpation (but will, later, fall to third, platinum the new King). There are things to think about here. I think about smoking a cigarette and walk on by.

2 a.m. is possibly my favorite time. It's when I dream I will find love; dream or imagine, I'm not sure which. Which is hopeful, or, no, more probable? I will believe in probability.

Long live probability!

I think about her, but she's probably not coming back.