The way I stood in there, packing my suitcase. Only my mind wasn’t on the suitcase, and it wasn’t on the weekend. Nor was it on the shirts I was putting in the suitcase, either. My mind was hanging outside the window. It was suspended, just about 18 inches below. And out there in that great big concrete jungle I wonder how others there are like me: poor bedeviled guys on fire with thirst… such comical figures to the rest of the world as they stagger blindly towards another binge, another bender, another spree.