In Secret

For Bresson, and Paris

Troubled as the future was, it was the unknown future, and in its obscurity there was ignorant hope.

--Dickens In Secret

Yet another night in bed. The compassion club paid a visit earlier, I sat and sipped tea, smoking hash, while the sound of 50,000 people collectively screaming at a football game across the street filled the empty space of my apartment.

Friday night, and the city hums with the passion of the workers. From my mattress, I imagine myself travelling through avenues and streets, gathering the secrets that have been washed from the concrete maze by the light rain, before they trickle into the sewers.

Intermittent yelps from the diners and drinkers below pass through my open window, and over my naked back, oh how I wish to join you, but my stomach will not allow it.

The hours funnel into one conclusion.