I'm drifting in and out of sleep, the traffic lights are blinking and the city,my city is both dead and alive. I'm happy. It's been a great night, and I'm patting myself on the back, No random calls, no summoning of past ghosts, no spineless wavy promises made at the peak of bridges of songs. "When the past calls, don't answer it has nothing new to say" And this is just as true on a Monday as it is on a Saturday night when your senses are dimmed. But the heart wants what it wants and humans have refined the art of self-justification propping up our egos or our will on flaky ass, half truths and skewed memories and skewed interpretations of past experiences. Not tonight though, tonight I am present, here , conscious. Probably more than I've been in a while. And the stir in the back, and the voices around me rise, and then drown around me. Like raindrops drowning in puddles when they hit the ground. The banter