I go out walking, after midnight, in the moonlight,

which, though it sounds attractive, is not the most sensible thing to do when little girls are asleep in their beds. No need to make the call to social services. I didn't. Not really. Just felt like walking after midnight. Cool air, eucalyptus trees, the glowing smile shed by the full moon, sparse traffic, and a hill. Wait... there's no fucking hills in Cerritos. I wish we had a hill... When I was in college. When I knew my VO2 Max. I rode a bike. And I ran up hills. And I worked out. And enjoyed sweating. Before the jobs, the parties, the drugs, the felonies, I was going to own the world someday. I just knew it. Problem: I forgot to apply the discipline it takes to own the world. Since I'm speculating however, if owning the world were to include all the people living on it, I think I pass. Too many to terminate. Say it Jack: I digress. The point intending to be made originally, represented by "Walking After Midnight," was an attempt to break from the ordinary. Wow, exciting. **please note** I'm certain to be slowing down if a walk after midnight constitutes a "crazy" break from the ordinary. Nonetheless, the day and the next day and the next seem to appear differently. Not ordinary. Not extraordinary. Simply different. Recalling running up a hill, noticing patterns in the sound waves whispering from a rotating fan, remembering a familiar face, and smiling. Think I'll hit play and see what pops up.