West 4 Street
Washington Square

This entire week I have having these fits of a flash of bright light followed by darkness. My psychiatrist (you surprised? You shouldn't be, after all the damage my parents did to me, you think that I would able to be a functional as I am without some help?) thinks that all of this is in my head. I told him about that first day, and he thinks that I imagined it all, the light and the diner. I guess I can believe him; after leaving the diner the next thing I remember was being in my bed so it could be that it was a dream. And even though it was all so very queer, it just felt so real, like I have that moment frozen in one of those Snow Scene things filled with water and bits of snow right in front of me. Either way, if I'm imagining things or if they are real, it doesn't make sense. I light a cigarette, taking long, deep drags, blowing perfect smoke rings that rise to the ceiling and burst in a perfectly elastic collision of matter with matter. The light is coming again, I can feel it.

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