There’s nothing like a park at 5:30 in the morning in winter. The lights are still shining beautifully but the benches and walking paths are empty. There are a few lights in the adjacent houses enlivening the fresh snow, but they are likely on because lonely hearts cannot sleep or perhaps they have to get up for a job they hate,
The quiet is almost deafening. There’s a guy smoking a cigarette on his balcony across the way. I cannot imagine his thoughts but they are likely yearning. Why must I be so cold to enjoy this sin? Or another fucking day with Jim.
Five-thirty in the morning. When it all seems so real and all seems so hard.