Monday, June 18

A long time.

That perfect time of day when the streelights cast shadows on walls still faintly glowing with daylight. It is blue, and dim, and dark. But there is light, and soft silhouettes because. There is a man drinking a beer alone at the barbecue, making himself dinner. Two guys play video games in their bachelor pad, as they have, every night, for years. A family clinks a loud dinner together in their kitchen, and i can faintly hear "A Message To You, Rudy" horning its way across from somewhere, through the courtyard's wide open space and into my ears. The young kids who just moved into their first apartment are dancing with friends. Wood doves fly with their adorable difficulty from tree to tree, forever calling out their sounds. And fucking melancholy. It is so tiresome, yet so marvelously familiar. Are we here? Am i there?