Good night.
The sleepiness of a Sunday night has always given me the strongest insomnia. The streets are emptier than ever, catching the reflected light of the rain and holding onto it.
If I didn’t know myself, I’d wonder what I was doing, soaked and alone in the dark.
It’s not always easy to tell why I’m doing what I’m doing. I’m prone to losing my own keys inside my hand and eating entire jars of pickles in one sitting.
It gets even more murky when I try to figure out what’s going on in anyone else’s mind. My fortune-telling days were limited to the 30-second window of time between the brief thrill graduating high school and then realizing I hadn’t the slightest clue. About anything.
As the map stretches out further and further into all those lives getting ready for Monday morning, someone’s got to have the answers. That, or we’re all going to be awake until dawn.