It's cold outside.

I find it strange that I'm thinking that no one calls anymore; seeing that no has ever really called.

Coffee at 3 a.m. sounds nice, black. At some random place where i can start writing without anyone disturbing me, and listen to old crackling jazz from an old wax record. On a bench. No computer, no internet, just an old wooden pencil and a notebook.

I went out for a walk and said "it's mighty cold out tonight" and she didint say anything.
"It's getting to the point where i cant even tell if i have a fucking nose or not - do i have a nose? is it on straight?" i asked, but not waiting for an answer. She never talks to me, really. i look up and, she's just there. Like she always will be. "luna" i said "you never were much of a conversationalist." and i walked back inside.