surrounded by my friends. in blankets. warm. cards and conversation. mad man throws down the cards and we go outside into the dark. away from what we know. for a little while it all seems we are going somewhere. bright lights over the ridge. music. and we find ourselves at the beginning of the middle but not at the heart. its on the outside. the sun rises. at the end of an arm was a hand that showed me something. looking at me as i write. they say nothing. but things i cant print.