Lying awake in a pitch black room with only the sound of a cheap plastic fan rustling window blinds hours on end. It's one of those nights that the thoughts never stop. The hour hand slows into 2:00 a.m. and I get a soft taste of cheap Mexican beer creeping up my throat and the smell fogs my nostrils. On this particular night I didn't drink enough to get a full night of sleep. One without tossing and turning at least, falling in and out of nightmares and hints of past memories or possible past lives. A lot can go through a mans mind while staring into a voidless enclosed abyss of small apartment blackness. It can either drive one to enlightenment or the awareness of his own demons and the voices they carry out. In my case it's a combination of both.
