"Hey. What up, man?"
The conversation always begins the same. The hour falls near to seven. Maybe the last few nights have been really quiet. Hell, maybe the last through weekends, or even the last few months. But the wind has changed. The Stars aligned. Tonight is different.
"Nothing much man. What are you up to?"
So elegant. So simple. Nothing's been said, yet everything's been said. Tonight will not be another ordinary one. The night calls, and so does adventure.
So here I sit, writing this in a bar while I wait for my buddy to arrive. I'm not lugging around a laptop or nothin': the swipe function on my phone is working pretty dang well.
Preferably I'd write this at the end of the night or some time tomorrow, but I'm not so naive that I actually think that I'll be in any shape to write at those moments in time.
So I'll write it tonight.
When you see this, this former self will be an echo. A distant memory for the me that appears then, likely a foggy one. If at all.
But striking out is a good way to kill the restlessness, the existential ennui that sometimes hits me like a ton of bricks and asks, open-mouthed in horror: "is this it?"
By going out I answer: "No there's something better. It's just around the corner."
Nights like this are good every once in a while. And with any luck, I'll thank me tomorrow.
Friday, December 1st, 2017
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