until you realize no one else cares about the new Mission Impossiblemovie. It’s safe to walk alone at night. Past the park where the BostonSymphony Orchestra plays, via livestream, to a crowd of picnicblankets, to the ice-cream stand, and back.The best week of my life was the week I discovered Talking Headsand weed. And the documentary about the grown-up boy-evangelist,preaching for money. And now I’m bored.Annoying: the car that pulls up next to me in traffic playing, at fullvolume, seagull noises. I flip the sign in front of the free fruit tray thatsays TAKE SOME! And write:THIS IS A RECIPE FOR BUGS. Tonight’s the opposite of a fullmoon: an empty moon.People are bad. Except the one girl I saw pause to throw the tennis ballback over the fence.The fruit tray’s gone the next day. Then there’s a bird’s nest in the Oof the Taco Bell sign. I wait, listening for baby birds.I can hear the employees arguing about colorism. It makes me think,maybe the seagull sounds were just the sea. Does that make sense?That’s how bad of a mood I’ve been in.If you forced me, I would say thank you to the Neanderthals, but onlyfor inventing kissing.Doesn’t pith sound like a poem word? I peeled pith from my orange inthe dark theater.