Our solar lights usually don’t last too long. It’s a matter of storage I guess. But this one night I was lucky. After what was a very productive day, I decided to relax at the Patio Cigar Lounge (Open 24/7). It has shrunk from its Summer days of glory. No more multiple seatings, tables, and buzzing conversations. It’s just me now.
As I think it should be. Yes, the lounge is always open to the cigar smoking public. I enjoy everyone’s company. But as the season winds down, or in the case of the midwest – has already stopped – to keep the clock analogy going, I felt at ease in the silence of the darkness. Alone.
I can now read in the moonlight, articles, such as “Michael Tomasky: Can the Unthinkable Happen?” Or “Bold Strokes,” about Pamela Joyner, and her desire to highlight overlooked black artists. Or maybe just riffle through the many magazines I have yet to take out of the plastic. There are so few sounds. No cicadas, no squirrels, remarkably no planes. Nothing. Just the glistening of the moonlight adding to the sun’s energy in my lamp. Hmmm. Even though I have a jacket on, I am warm. Warm with the thoughts of everything, and nothing. I think I’ll close my eyes and stop writing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Do whatever I want. It’s my lounge. And I’ll do what I want . . . It’s my loug . . . .it’s my l. . . . . it’s m . . . .. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.