Artists and their vices. Hemingway was famous for his, I wonder if modern day artists are similar. Perhaps they are products of their time but at the same time, I don’t think the average great american author has surpassed basic frivolities into an elevated being. I think modern writers are the same. Perhaps they will get the big expose treatment upon scandals or death. I wish to be open with mine.

I found myself drawn to the sensation of cigarettes after sex. Not literally as it’s been nearly five years since I last even dared try one. I much prefer my flaming french fries or toxic vapes. Truly though I find myself drawn to the ethereal night time. The dawning of a great tomorrow approaching by the eerie and serene night time. Some of my greatest memories are in the night time air, unmolested by the things that haunt them during the day. Let me give you an example.

Where I live is not a big city, a city but not a big one. In certain key areas a euphoric rush is felt late at night, walking bare foot in the streets. Music placating my eardrums or silent night ambiance.

My favorite night time miracle is that of a rainy night. Without fault, when it rains I can hear police sirens far in the distance. Together they make a dream like transcendent momentary blissful moment. At time like those, I sit upon my balcony and listen.

Dear Friend, it’s been a hard week and I’m beginning to see an end to it, but in the meantime it is an uphill battle. Dear Friend, everything will be alright.