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Night defies me in a medley of ways, down to the dust encrusting my front porch.� The little dog is screaming, but mine sits in his awkward sadness, waiting for the door to swing open and let him in.� The night before the place was packed, music attempting to drown out the neighborapos;s cries.� This goes without mentioning the way he looked with his drink in hand, nonchalant and chivalrous.
Iapos;ve always been enchanted with the things left unsaid, and sometimes I�think in spite of words - heapos;s a mystery to me.

I donapos;t mean to be presumptuous.� There are plenty of things outside myself Iapos;d like to discuss, but the day has been so lazy and I grew tired by eight oh clock.

We did the shopping for the Halloween party today, and I�hope to have my room cleaned up by the end of the night (but why?).� Tommorrow, Iapos;ll go donate plasma for money (it has come to this).� Either way, weapos;re going to be okay.

What I�really miss are the things I�did at sixteen, those stupid misadventures I�still feel prone to, the way we would hop fences, escape sounding alarms,� and watch the city from its highest point.� I want that back, but I�know I�canapos;t go after it again. Rather, I wonapos;t.� I�will settle down and talk about "the old days," and never really mean a thing.� What is trespassing but exploration, anyway?

I�should be reading news right now.

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