These streets blur by me in vague familiarity. Unsettling, but not entirely uncomfortable. I wonder to myself how nothing here has changed, nothing really. The houses, though being newer built on higher ground, remain essentially the same. More people, more stores. But not unchanged. That sinking feeling still there.

Odd reunions of lost people. Its not been all difficult to recognize. But that shift to the system- when you know who your eyes are seeing is someone you haven't seen in years, and might not see again for years more- It takes time for that to catch up in my brain.

There are citrus trees everywhere. Grapefruits hang over fences, lemons and oranges lining driveways.

Punks and drunks roam the streets. I'm in there too, somewhere, eager to take a walk one of these coming nights. To prowl the early mornings as I'm fond to do.

These streets were made for night walking. These are the streets that taught me.

Not these specifically, but those streets aren't far away. Perhaps one night I will drive to them and park my brother's car under those enlightening orbs of artificial luminescence. I will pass under them again, choosing my pace as I fade from darkness to light every 30 steps, letting my mind wander with my legs and eyes.

It all looks better at night.

I dream of running into my old cat. I dream.

But now I'm called back to the Valley world for breakfast at 1 p.m.