Maybe there’s nothing. I’m just wandering down alleys and wet concrete tunnels and hoping I find a way out of it all. You know. You walk around aimlessly on purpose because you hope to run into the thing you want out of sheer random chance. There’s this image in my head, a person finding a door in between the endless highway overpasses and dumpsters and passageways marked “do not enter” or “authorized personnel only”, a door only he can open. Somewhere only he can go. It’s a nice picture. But all it does is get him to get lost in a rough part of town every night. I hope that door really exists. Otherwise one night I’ll find myself in unknown foggy back streets under flickering orange lights and lose the way back home and not find it again.
Rascals are always sociable, and the chief sign that a man has any nobility in his character is the little pleasure he takes in others company. Arthur Schopenhauer