non-fiction

i sit in the middle of my futon
typing on my powerbook
the futon reminds me of the futon my ex and i had sex on
feel like i want to 'get the fuck away from this thing'
i walk up stairs
the first, fourth, sixth and eleventh stairs creak
it's 4:47a.m. and dark on the ground floor of the house
i can't see but am aware of a subconscious knowledge of objects in the house
and a distinct sensation of there being photons around somewhere
i walk outside
the alarm system beeps, says 'front door' and i indulge the notion that i am waking everyone
i smile out of fear

it is cool out
too cool for a tee shirt, slim slacks and vans, especially without socks
i open the door inward
the alarm system says beeps and says 'front door'
i see my winter coat on the living room couch
i vaguely indulge the notion of it being 'meant to be' there
i don't feel stupid for thinking this, just human, and then depressed
i put on the coat
i go outside and take out my wallet
there are three parliament lite cigarettes inside of it
one of them is crushed
i take out a non-crushed parliament, suddenly remembering, through word association, that i don't have a lighter
i think:

the alarm system will say 'front door' again and i will hate suburbia
and i will remember that i don't live in 'suburbia'
and that i just live with people who have a suburban mindset

i find a lighter in the middle drawer of the desk beneath a gold-gilded-frame painting of george washington praying the morning of the 'delaware river fiasco'
i am aware of the painting, but don't look up at it
i leave the door cracked this time
i imagine that the cigarette that is magic
in addition to it being cool, there is water falling from the sky
i don't want water to fall onto the cigarette
one drop of water somehow managed to fall 15,000ft directly onto my cigarette
i think distinctly about the notion that if water falls from the sky onto the localized point of sustained heat generated by the tobacco and paper and chemicals burning away the cigarette, the thermal energy will transfer from that localized point, to the water, which will steal desired heat from my imagined magic wand
i move backward a little bit, nervously, beneath the porch light

i want to spit, because i am paranoid about swallowing nicotine saliva
i spit onto the lawn
the manner in which my face contorts while spitting resultes in my eyes looking directly toward something
i mistake it for a slug
it is actually a dry leaf that is no longer dry because there is now water on it
from the rain