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all of the stores around here close at eight
and the small town retires, closing its gates
the moms with strollers, the lonely separated men,
they retire too, to their homes and fill the next few hours with

coffee, a late snack, and prime time tv.

what remains are handfuls of teenagers that scream obscenities to turn heads *but they don't turn mine,

and the moon.

all of the stores around here close at eight
the jeweler, the tiles, the gift shops, book stores,
but what about us who aren't tired at eight?
who aren't ready to go home and fill the void with

pseudo-productivity?

who aren't interested in the loud, obnoxious carrot-reds and astro-turf greens of the air surrounding these small town bars,
who aren't interested in waddling about the trainstation "nowhere to go", when's there's *always* somewhere to go,
where do we go? We want to stay out at night.

We, who buy new sneakers, not for aesthetic purposes, but for good mileage-
we want to stay out at night.

We, who are turned on by the lights, even the lit parking signs at the funeral homes, and know that *lights are sexy, but the dark is sexier-
we want to stay out at night.

And on the way home, I pass a church, Lutheran I think, and I stop in my tracks. I block out the sidewalks, and Sunday school signs, and just look at the cross and the trees. I think to myself "this could all be so fucking ancient", this primal cry for faith, this simple symbol among nature-

but then a car goes by.

I pass houses, and have this inexplicable urge to just go in, have tea with them, and conversate some simple, soothing conversation, even though they have no idea who the hell I am. And I don't give in.

I pass the train station, and am tempted, with my humble $25 or so, to call home and say, "I'm going to New York. I'll be back tomorrow, I guess", hop the next train, and go. Sweet spontaneity, oh how you have eluded me in my simple days of

work, sleep, work, sleep, work, sleep.
And I don't give in.

What I want is breakable routine. I want to know where I'm going, what I'm doing, and know that I can skip it, and work around it at the spur of the moment.

And I realize this, half way home.
I shut my eyes, and come to the conclusion that this is the desire of everyone. A seemingly odd contradiction soaked in convenience. And I think, such a primal urge...this could be so ancient...

but then a car goes by.