Cigars in the summertime, under the sky by the light.

Lately I've taken up the habit of standing on my balcony at night in the cold to draw incredibly random bs on my new notebook. It's nice out, really. The wind, the sounds, the lights. Hardly annoying like some people would think.

And I don't know why but summer nights make me think.

Somewhere, someone is stone cold and dead in a tied up sack, dragged along the back alley to be dumped.
Somewhere, someone is reading The Catcher In The Rye for the first time.
Somewhere, an undernourished kid is sewing buttons onto a 100$ cotton shirt.
Somewhere, my dream boy is in his boxers strumming a Sinatra on the guitar, and being the genius stud he is, while having a smoke and simultaneously musing over John Lennon and Neil Gaiman.

or you know, whatever.