I won’t lie.
I still find myself in the padded seat of a parked car on beautiful nights like this. Squat in a random lot, with random crickets and indigestion. The trees stand like blank totems and watch me with answers buried in bark. Shadows play on the ground and the radio display dances mute and maniacal. My heart beats fast for nothing and everything, and I think of nothing and everything. In the distance, howling traffic reminds me that things are still happening and that they will always happen. They’ll happen with or without roads, gasoline, corner store buzz and jingle.
Meanwhile the porch lamps burn electric, and I know there are people behind locked doors, between sheets and dreams, and nearly everyone I’ve met is tucked in somewhere, or wandering about, perhaps getting a glass of midnight milk or morning OJ. Or maybe they’re across the plains wide awake in the parking lot of life. In times of uncertainty– that is to say all times– I ache for humanity and every last creature of the night.
Steel wheel, what do you say?
Old shed, give me a clue.
Crowded drain, how ’bout you?
You damn crickets. You remind me that the night is alive, just like all the bars and pubs and people standing outside with faces and words. Well. That’s fine. I can appreciate alive on both sides.
No, I won’t lie.
I still find myself sitting in parking lots, and I still miss the world.