It’s Friday night.
I feel like being out in the world.
I walk the kilometre or so up the hill, to the park that overlooks the city.
Distant traffic flashes and dips. The city’s high-rise buildings glow. Occupants of the houses and units bordering the park go about their end-of-day rituals – cooking, dressing, transfixed by the television – their own moves framed and illuminated.
I’m not alone watching tonight’s show.
There are lovers entwined on the bench; a guy smoking a cigarette under the tree; friends sprawled on the grass, surreptitiously drinking beers – all watching the Friday night lights.
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