indian summer november night. a fragment in orange. the agora too loud and the whiskey too cold. my hands crammed into the pockets of my jeans -- palms hot and sweaty and fingers minty from the pack of gum that kept changing hands. a fragment in orange.

good times. unusual friends. i'm glad to be back home, alone. sat in the lawn chair out back, listened to the dog piss, and stared at the stars. stare long enough and they shoot all over the place.

this is the new mindfulness. finding the big thing in the now. minute by minute. the new mindfulness. a fragment in orange.