October 24, 2007.

There was something in the air tonight, as I stood outside Borough station waiting for a night bus that ever-so-eventually came, that reminded me of King Street West circa a bunch of years ago. A certain smell in the air maybe, a certain phosphorescent streetlight glow, maybe it was the yellow thumb print the moon made in the night sky. I remember stumbling out those old doors, an arm slung around my shoulders, singing old Sinatra songs at the top of everybody's lungs. Oh you should have been there. Maybe you were.