Reading alone in the silence of my room. Reading aloud at a party with a bunch of people I sort of know- want to know- knew, and do not know. But what's the difference the next day? I'm better than I was the day before. It doesn't matter what I do at night. 

There is a lamp that stays on most of the night across the back lane. Shadows stir, cars go by. The trees move like performers of a slavonic dance. Fast and fierce. Snow falling outside- inside I am like a backwards snow globe. 

Winter is coming. I can be found at my desk, in the company of good friends. Perhaps watching the world go by from inside a glass bowl.