Friday Night at Mickey's

I don’t know what I was thinking. I was parked somewhere in the San Rafael Hills. The
place was deserted. I got out of my Datsun and slammed the door. Through the window,
I noticed a soft pack on the floorboard. I picked it up. I pressed the pack to the bridge of
my finger with a swish of my wrist and put one in my mouth. I lighted the cigarette with
a beige Bic lighter. I put the lighter back in my pocket exhaling through my nose and
mouth as I looked into the starless sky. I felt something like a spark shoot up my spine
and saw a bright light getting brighter. My body lit up from within. I sat down on the
hood of my car, Budd Hopkins’ 'Intruders' sticking out of my jeans. The year was 2010. I
was trying to find the cliff where we lost the edge. Seven years later, looking off the
plane.