What? Is that time right? Caffeine and cigarette buzz. Listening to The Information. I should be showering, packing, doing laundry. Something! NYU was beautiful. Bong hits in a weather-stripped dorm room. Colt45. Shots, and a cab ride. Lights and lights and darkness, flying down the streets in horror and ecstasy while Thom discussed Pimp My Ride with our driver. Apartment, beer, and half-disgusted fascination with Jackass 2 on the television. Not my choice, obviously. Cigarette break. In a state of vapid concentration, memorizing my surroundings. Apartment building. Iron-wrought fence around a patch of dirt that used to be grass. Empty plastic bottle. The decision to walk up the block, two in the morning, self-pledges that if did not see a place to buy food (so many lights, there must be something) in a one, two, three, four, and five building area, I would turn around. Go back. Another cigarette drag. Pause at the corner, peering, and someone coming. No panic. "Do you have a cigarette?" "Yes. Do you need a light?" "No." "Ok. Have a good night." and smile. The kinship I feel with the world. Back to the building (thanking the night that I took the time to notice my surroundings) inside, girl buzzing in. My furtive search for 3f (a completely foreign system of numberedlettered buttons). Girl seeing my (obviously trashed off my ass) contemplations. "Do you want to come in?" holding the door. "Yes, thanks." and smile. And, tomorrow, twenty-three hours, back to Olney.