Stood beneath a streetlight on a road belonging to any town or city you could think of, I suck on my cigarette and listen to something I can’t see but of which I know is there nonetheless. I’ve felt it my entire life, and although I’ve no proof of its existence other than the sensations it stirs within, I’m certain it’s out there. Most would say I’m unusual. Many would say far worse, but while those I rub shoulders with during the day are either sleeping or dancing to the sound of sounds in a hive of nightclubs and bars, I’m chasing shadows that lead me to places they wouldn’t believe. The moon looks so pretty, and when I blow the smoke from out of my mouth, it swirls and swirls around that pale rock in such a way that it makes me surrender to the strangeness even more. Perhaps…