You know, I've always been a night person. The last night of the school year, every year, my big treat was to be allowed to stay up all night without any nagging or concern.
During the school year it was a different matter. How many nights and how many flashlight batteries did I go through? Pitch black, bedroom door closed, towel curled up and stuffed under the door to try and stop as much of the light as possible from shining around the edges into the hall, while there I sat in the middle of my bed under a fuzzy, glowing, pink tent of a blanket, reading - or rereading - my favorite books.
I learned to play the gutair in the middle of the night; it was quiet then, and a good time to focus. The drums too.
Writing all night long - papers, journals, articles, stories. Clackety clack on the typewriter, then the computer.
Romance and bars are best experiences in the dead, middle quiet of the night. Staggering through a snowstorm with someone else's boyfriend. Him claiming he's madly in love. Me just wanting an adventure, a whirl, under the fuzzy, glowing white tent of the streetlight's blanket.
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