10pm and not much further. Slightly detached, slightly dissociated, trying to let these hours float while day's but a memory already and sleep still as unreal and elusive as any dream to maybe follow. Steps echoing through the narrow street but these feet seem light and on a walk not kept down too much by any invisible burden. Empty bus stop, flickering street lights, a collection of Christmas candeliers in a window over there. Shadowplay. Stories lost, stories found. And the fabric of dreams made of both. (Have a restful night wherever you are.)