the millionth band or the ten millionth band.  the singer still looks exactly the same as when i used to go see his old band, just like a child, except he seems to have brushed up on mick jagger's moves.  i drive past fake, afterwards. but there's a line outside and i can't find parking, so i decide to fall back on the rest of my new pattern.

one meal, a vitamin, cheap over-the-counter stimulants, a bit of caffeine, more activity.  keeping the hands busy with selling things, fixing things and making things.  keeping the legs busy with long walks alone, late at night, back and forth across sleepy college towns and sleepy harbor towns.  i expect the walks to be especially helpful.  i'm preoccupied with the little details dimly lit by the moon, my thoughts scatter and leave, i hum songs to myself, and i pass by a few hundred locked doors and a dozen unlocked ones.  exploring empty office buildings at 3am.  watching the water ripple, feeling the sting of the wind, hearing the quacks of ducks that apparently sleep as little as i do.  feeling smug because i know what this and this and that are like at precisely this moment when everyone else is sleeping.  thinking that things should eventually turn out alright, even if i'm unsure about some of the details.