Patience

It’s pleasant to observe how the 1% live; apparently, you get to drive your Cadillac Escalade or whatever right up to your corporate suite at the football stadium; also, apparently, the poor wage slaves hired to keep an eye on things from the security of their glassed-in booth at the entrance have been brainwashed by their corporate overlords to believe it’s their responsibility to make sure no two-wheeled miscreants sully the panorama by riding around and drinking beer on the rooftop platform; the good news there is it means that a mere fifteen minutes into the evening’s festivities, you’ve already been rousted out by some semblance of authority so, for the rest of the night, you’re playing with house money, so to speak, and even if there are no other occasions for breaking stupid rules, one of the main criterion for success has already been met, which means it’s not necessary to be locked into the dusk-closing park just for the hell of it; nor does it become a requirement to start a fire in someplace where the odds of detection and early extinguishing are increased by time or illuminated regulations; instead, one finds their way well into the woods and an all-weather spot, pretty much custom-made for just the sort of warming glow to take the chill off a cool, dry, and moonless late-spring night, only a week or so short of what would be the shortest darkness of the year, and standing around, finishing up the remains of the day, you can reflect on how it was and will be, all the way back to where it started, more or less, while continuing to enjoy this version of things, which, once again, has its own unique charms and souvenirs, none the least of which is yet another chance to glide slowly back the way you came, savoring the late-night view of all you’ve seen before so many times, but never tire of seeing like this.