What a wonderful night. The chilled air is just lacking in energy yet I am not cold.I ask myself why I am not walking slower, why rush, why not bask in this feeling. The music of the night,whether it is the song of the birds, the percussion of the tree branches with their prolonged attack and rhythmic superstition, or the rushing of traffic so far yet so close to my person. Oh if sleep was optional and the sun rise was soft, I would trod for centuries until the holes in the soles of my shoes became blisters. Why must I call Vegas my home, this dirty city, filth with boundaries would be the correct description. Life as a tadpole for myself started in the sewers. But my sentiments saturate my mind. I see this fuckhole as my fuckhole, 21 years I have trodden in this dry excuse for a society, and I do not know any other way of living. The heat, the sex (or lack thereof), the bribery.... Fuck, Vegas must be the bribery capital of the world, well except for Washington DC, I am quite positive that they have that covered. God what a tangent to remind myself of the sublime mood I am greeted with when I rise from the tan park bench, with it's soft plastic coating comforting my tailbone, because hell.... The soft ass I was born with is to thin to comfort my body and mind. If only the world, every being in the world knows the feelings I have been touched with, and these purely psychological feelings are the most sublime one can possibly feel. These feelings are in past tense yet they linger in the present.