my precious

I was walking home over the mountain last night (working off an a-volonté sushi dinner) and I noticed, for the umpteenth time this winter, how empty it is.

Four months from now, there will be plenty of people at that hour. But nights in the park are mine.

All last fall I ran up on the mountain at lunchtime. It was gorgeous, splendid, and largely deserted. A huge treat and a huge high, to elevate yourself out of the city for an hour, run wildly through the woods, and share the secret feeling with nobody.

Some of you ask: why do I walk home through a huge deserted park at night?
Well, because I believe any potential rapist out there would be easily defeatible out of sheer mental incompetence. I mean, who wants to rape on a snowy winter's night, when it's -30? You'd lose your penis in the process. Honestly.