Saturday, November 10, 2007

Saturday Night

Its Saturday night, but I stayed in. It’s a plain and comfortable silence, interrupted now and again by the rain knocking on the roof. The windows are black. Beside my computer is a steaming cup of tea and dull lamplight is falling all around. It’s really an inspiring mixture of elements. I’ve picked up my guitar a bit, I read for a few hours, and I think I might do some writing. I think about texting someone and going out, and I guess I still may, but I keep considering the way wet sidewalks seep through the holes in the soles of my shoes, soaked cotton socks, and the hems of my jeans, already tattered, dragging in all the mess washed up from the street.

Maybe I’ll get lucky though and get caught alone at a traffic light somewhere in the city, with the right song on the stereo, something slow and soft with swelling strings. The bars will be long out and most people will already be home. I’ll tear off a piece of memory and think about sitting at that intersection once when I was seventeen, and I’ll think about how places and things and people get defined and re-defined with time, how much the city and the world gets smaller, and how it becomes more complex. The traffic lights will reflect in the puddles on the street and everything will feel red, until, all of a sudden, it will all feel green. And I’ll move on to the next thing.

Yeah, I think I may go out tonight….