Striding along the rubble strewn sidewalk on the lazy curve of Skinker at an hour until midnight on a cold Monday night, my attention is drawn by an approaching rumble. As I near the overpass with its elegantly spare streamlined details my eyes dart above as the metro train passes over. Adjusting back from the rhythmic pools of bright light radiating from the warm windows my eyes are drawn to a lone mitten among the gravel and litter. I ponder how the intrinsic pairing of mittens and socks always seems to tempt the fates to separate them.
My mind is still on this tack a minute later when I must divert in the street to walk around a militarily anti-urban crabapple tree which has claimed the sidewalk with its lower branches. It is Skinker at night however so I am in no danger of traffic.
As I near the crass glare of the taco and chicken stacks a pungent aroma assaults my nostrils, that of a cigarello. Looking around to see if anyone is blatantly getting blunted in the parking lot, my gaze is caught by motion on the other side of the street.
Under the full moon a stray dog is making his way north on the sidewalk. We exchange quick guilty glances, each one wondering what the hell the other is doing out on this icy night.
I leave Skinker and shuffle my way on the ice towards my warm home.
Don't expect to hear much more from me this week... Studio Final has come calling...
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