Living room II.

Play a game with me. Come and lie in the living room, by the windows, clothing discarded. The impurities of day aren't yet come by dawn's first light. No, really. Walk, and breathe free air with the windows open and a snatch of soul left free to wander. Don't care what the rest of the neighborhood would think because you're the only one awake at that hour. You're the only one with the guts to do something so intimate with the damn blinds open, don't you know?

Across the street is that family who you used to babysit for, and their two little blonde boys who haven't grown up much in years at all. And then there's the house that your old history teacher used to live in - maybe still does - but it's so empty at times that maybe no one ever really lived there.

Hey, hey... And next door in the brick house is the family with the kids your sister 'sat for, and the other side has more kids, and a cop and a huge Rottweiler that used to be an adorable pup. You liked him as a pup. Remember?

There's more people down the street, and up it, who'd be incensed to know what you're dong. They'd say you were sick and make petitions and call the press and maybe even put signs around your house.

"Warning: Sick mind."

You know none of them stop and think. You hardly stop and think, sometimes. Mostly you think on the go, but thats pre-programmed thinking. It doesn't take much effort to decide to step right when a car is coming at you, or a cyclist, or another human being. The real thinking comes when you stand up straighter and hold your ground, stare them down like the trains on the train tracks, the way you used to do when you were young.

Drivers always wanted to know if you had a death wish. But you always smiled and pointed to the little red marker, where the trains stopped for the station. Not suicidal. Just thinking.

And still, the rest of the street wouldn't see it like that. They wouldn't get that there's a certain time for being exposed, vulnerable. They'd think it was something all the time. But it's not. Just like the only trains that stop come Monday, Thursday, Saturday at three-fifteen, so the only time for sun-kissed skin in a living room is five-thirty, the am, when the rest of the world isn't quite awake enough to find you.