It’s always better than it looks; you catch the rain in the streetlight and it seems like you’d have to be crazy to be out there, but when you are, it’s way more like an expensive facial treatment had for free.
The future oppresses us in our imaginings; when you wait for it to arrive before passing judgment, it loses some of its power to incite panic. Once you’re willing to see plastic as a viable fire-starter, the embrace of the available begins.
Pleasure is overrated at least to the extent that pleasure means “what’s pleasurable.” Or “pleasing,”maybe. Anyway, it feels good to be kind of miserable in the rain. Bedragled rats. Very handsome bedragled rats.
It took a Goldilocks-like two shelters to find the one that was just right, but it was, and the kindling kindled into the cheeriest blaze you could ever hope for on a night that it took just such a fire to counteract the water, giving rise to plenty of steaming garments even before two levels of flames had been achieved.
You surely have to like riding bikes to like riding bikes on a night such as this; on the other hand, what’s the alternative? In general, you come to regret the things you haven’t done rather than those you have, although you can certainly regret a few of those, as well.
Tonight, however, there’s nothing really you’d take back: your route home admittedly isn’t the most efficient, but, in any case, there you am, warm and dry on the living room couch while the wind wails outside.
You could have had that all along, I guess, but then, you’d have missed out on the opportunity to find solace in the maple leaves that carpeted your route home through Ye Olde Byke Traile; to be once again impressed with the mini-wormhole that spills you out on the other side of the hill; soaking in being outside and the experience of experiencing the outside.
The future oppresses us in our imaginings; when you wait for it to arrive before passing judgment, it loses some of its power to incite panic. Once you’re willing to see plastic as a viable fire-starter, the embrace of the available begins.
Pleasure is overrated at least to the extent that pleasure means “what’s pleasurable.” Or “pleasing,”maybe. Anyway, it feels good to be kind of miserable in the rain. Bedragled rats. Very handsome bedragled rats.
It took a Goldilocks-like two shelters to find the one that was just right, but it was, and the kindling kindled into the cheeriest blaze you could ever hope for on a night that it took just such a fire to counteract the water, giving rise to plenty of steaming garments even before two levels of flames had been achieved.
You surely have to like riding bikes to like riding bikes on a night such as this; on the other hand, what’s the alternative? In general, you come to regret the things you haven’t done rather than those you have, although you can certainly regret a few of those, as well.
Tonight, however, there’s nothing really you’d take back: your route home admittedly isn’t the most efficient, but, in any case, there you am, warm and dry on the living room couch while the wind wails outside.
You could have had that all along, I guess, but then, you’d have missed out on the opportunity to find solace in the maple leaves that carpeted your route home through Ye Olde Byke Traile; to be once again impressed with the mini-wormhole that spills you out on the other side of the hill; soaking in being outside and the experience of experiencing the outside.
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