There is danger in my path. I think that I’ve forgotten when I found that sort of thing exciting. How does it all slip away. I look up at the treetops and the night washes through them. There is death there, somewhere in the night. I feel it in my flesh. In a fitful rest, it sleeps deep within my heart.
Not a night of happy stumbling and laughing. Drinking with young friends. This isn’t one of those good nights. Not this night.
I heard no good news all day. None bad either, but nothing good to lift us up. Not this day.
Today it was just laundry. Bacon and eggs and black coffee. I watered the lawn. I spied the same terrible starved coyote that killed my neighbor’s cat, trotting down my sidewalk. I had nothing handy to kill it with, so I just followed it off my block. I did not run after it. I just followed close so that it kept looking over its shoulder. It knew that I’d kill it if I could catch it. I knew that it’d attack me back too. I’ll find it again and next time I’ll have its death more at my reach. Horrible thing.
Inside my apartment was my new refrigerator. Oh, but this is a good thing.
Only two days in my kitchen. I became excited about what I might fill it with. I came home from the store with frozen chicken pot pie. Ice cream sandwiches from San Francisco, made of two spicy oatmeal cookies, fresh, soft and sweet vanilla ice cream, all covered in dark chocolate. I bought a bag of crushed ice. Peaches, four of them. Even bought a 1/2 gallon watermelon water.
No fire in the backyard tonight. No one to sit with me and watch it burn tonight. So, I drank. I drank on and on. Smoked a little too. The sky grew darker and the air cooler.
It got late and I didn’t stop eating from all the things in my new fridge. When sleep could no longer be avoided, I said good night to my newest best friend, my kitchen appliance. My tiny reward for holding on. Holding on through the nights and through the danger.