September 20, 2005 Great Night

Like the canary in the coal mine, I'm one of the first to get sick. There's a new cold going around.
The weather changed drastically in the last two days. 82 to clowdy, brooding, rain-threatening sixties. In an otherwise busy week it's the only night with nothing doing. Thickening lungs. Scratchy throat. Only whiskey will do tonight, then bed.
Maybe two whiskeys.

The place is three quarters full - there's one free spot at the bar. The bartender knows what I like and makes me a special whiskey-apple-mint concoction. Interesting crowd tonight, but I'm in a pensive, almost contemplative mood. My attention is drawn irresistibly to the sky beyond the windows. There's a three-quarter moon behind tattered clowds. Every five minutes or so it disappears, leaving nothing but mottled moonlight above the Upper Market skyline.

I'm twisted around backward on my barstool staring at the sky. I want to elbow my neighbors and direct their attentions to the windows, but they all have their own conversations to attend to. It's okay - I'm alone in a crowd.
Sometimes there's loneliness, a feeling of incompleteness. There are feelings to share and no one to share them with. Then there are nights like tonight, when aloneness is a blank canvas. Solitude begets possibility. There is a masterpiece of emotion that can only be completed in the absence of interruption.

I will walk home slowly tonight. I will absorb this evening through every pore. I am sad and drunk and lonely and happy because the only light shining on my face comes from streetlamps and celestial bodies.