There is Fiction in the Space Between

It's late...about 3 am...and I've still not gone to bed. This is unusual for me. I'm listening to Tom Waits and Tanita Tikaram and Loudon Wainwright and Leonard Cohen and Doc Watson and on and on and on. Something's on my mind, but I don't quite know what.

I logged in to Facebook and found one or two people I know still logged in, but they're not people I feel like talking to. I'm in the mood for conversation, but it has to be the right conversation with the right people...and the people I want to talk to are few and far between and the ones who might be willing to have the conversation I want to have are even more scarce.

I wonder if there are other people sitting there tonight, wishing they could talk to someone about something they can't quite put their fingers on? I doubt it. Most people don't need or want to talk about things that I care about.

I'm listening to Tom Waits now...some of his deep blues. The ghost of Friday night is still...for now. And now Tracy Chapman comes up on the headphones. "Telling Stories." Apropos. "There is fiction in the space between."