Street. Walk. Ponder.

We were walking where the sidewalk had pulled up stakes and gone home. it was a darker part of the town than we were used to, made even darker because of our mood. A mood that fells smack dab between "let's run for our lives" and "I could go for some ice cream". I know you know. Everyone has those times.

Anyway, my shoes were new, but I was feeling gypped because they didn't squeak. Not even once. Robbed me of my chance to claim that they were not yet paid for. Ticked as I was, I purposely stepped on a crack, but immediately felt remorse for that and made a mental note to stop by and do something unexpected and nice for the folks when I returned.

Me and her said nothing. We just walked along in silence. After all these years together we had pretty much said everything we were ever going to need to say. Except the stuff. Again, I know you know. The stuff that is never quite finished. The stuff that always starts with, "Why don't you ever..." Mostly we'd just glance and nod. We were fine nodders.

Out of the corner of m eye I saw the dime. It was just lying there in a cracked and stained corner parking spot. It was neither in the light nor in the shadows. It was just in the there. To be seen if you saw, or otherwise to be just passed on by.

Do I pick it up? This town is not known for it's generosity; the night is not known as a giver. Few things in my life have come without some kind of catch, mostly hidden, and the coin, no matter how small a speck of good luck, would likely be no exception. How I would be stung was up for grabs. That I would be stung was a certianty. "Why don't you ever see stuff?", I asked, and pointed to the coin.

Feral cats and dogs are the homeless of the animal world. They carry the weight of a hardscrabble life in their expression. It is an expression of equal parts resignation and desperation. You see and want to help. But what can you do? A feral dog will bite the hand that tries to feed it. A feral cat wll bloody it. I guess their existence is all part of a greater plan. That is what I am told. But still, seems a rough way to go. We tossed the dime their way. It seemed appropriate.

My thoughts always drift as I walk. Tonight, more than usual, they dart and backtrack. Going nowhere really, unless travelling in circles is a destination. Restless, but not moved to any real action. Moving, but not moving forward. So very much like me. Wow... my thoughts are just like me. Stop the presses, ya'll.

I think I am the night. I think the night is me. I... we... whatever... there's a darkness. But we are not dark. There's a danger. But we are not dangerous. There's a sadness. But it is not necessarily our own. If there is a single truth it may be this. Like tonight, I am aimless. I pause in recognition that I am aimless. Hmm, thought it might feel different.

Still in love with Iron Ore Betty, out
Ramblin' Ed