There isn't much more to say about my weekend.
I rode transit a lot. Spent my afternoons frantically snatching what little sleep I could in libraries or malls. The four hours I got was on a subway train, riding back and forth along the long U shape that makes up the greater part of the subway. I drifted in and out of sleep, but for the most part, my sleeping remained uninterrupted.
Except for the dreams. The black, twisting forest. The storm, approaching somewhere in the distance, the wind pushing it carries some kind of smell. I recognize it but I can't name it. There is a sound, somewhere in the forest. Like drums pounding. And I wake up.
I switched trains and directions regularly, until it got to the point that I wasn't always sure where I was going. I got off the train and headed topside for air only to find that night had fallen. I might have been on Front street at that point. Wandering along the street looking for a bus stop, I happened across an old bit of graffiti on a bench.
"I'm sorry. HABIT made me do it."I'll admit. It was dark. I wasn't thinking straight. I could be wrong. This is what I believed I'd read. "HABIT made me do it."
I headed back to the train. I can sympathize with rabbits. Too exposed topside. The subway station was a few blocks back, and I hoofed it. Back inside the tunnels. Space here is contained, controlled. I know it better. Sun Tzu wrote quite a bit about fighting on your own terms rather than that of an enemy. I feel the box-cutter in my pocket. Not much of a weapon.
Not much else happened that night. The trains were safe, relatively quiet, and they kept moving. I snatched handfuls of sleep when I could. Never more than a few minutes at a time. I didn't want to go back to the forest. I still don't want to go back to the forest. He lives in the trees.