There is this feeling now, this adult feeling. I tried to explain it in the last few letters I have sent out. That I'm not a kid at the adult table anymore, I'm this person. All my youthful vices are out of my life, for the most part. "Now it's a few glasses of wine at dinner, not falling face first into Mike's lap after a handful of margaritas, or whichever embarrassing anecdote you choose to remember from my past." And there are many.

I had dinner at a friend's house, and it was so wonderful. She made delicious food, we ate it and talked about art, and what we want to do, and the people in our life, and everything. For dessert we had a bowl of fruit, cheese, a whiskey and cider, and a cigarette.

I can't explain it, it's just this feeling. For a long time you fake it, then you think you have it. Eventually you stop paying attention and it appears, for real. A conversation at the dinner table, empty plates still present. On the way home I walked past a bunny and it hopped away a bit, and I followed. It flashed its white tail at me and was off!

Goodnight; good riddance.