Yellow Lights

Sitting under arc lights, I almost feel like I'm an acclaimed author ready to hand out autographs.

Sitting in between two people connecting with each other over the luxuries afforded to them through smoking, I almost feel like I'll never really belong to this kind of life.

Sitting here, writing these word down, I do wish I had my laptop with me. The sound of the keys going clickety clack prices to be soothing for frazzled, tired nerves.

Instead, I walk about the dimly lit, almost ochre parking lot and it feels like home. The sight of the spider run about frantically on its web, spinning away till kingdom come, is beautiful. Yes, perhaps this is my world, watching the eight legged beauties and remembering their origins as a beautiful maiden in the legend of vengeful Greek gods and goddess.

Its a different world, its a different time than what it was. The serenity of sitting on the couch till the clock quietly strikes five and wakes the morning again, of watching tiny ocelots take their first steps, of smiling at their scowling faces.

Worlds will come, world will go. It is inevitable. I realize this only today, while sitting under arc lights. Such wise lights the turned out to be.

Signing Out,
Arc Lighting Inc.