Bahama Village/Key West, autumn 1994

"Exit Light, enter Night, take my hand…we’re off to Never, Neverland…."
-Metallica, "Enter Sandman"

The house was white inside, and sparsely furnished. A black and white TV was on all day for the dogs to watch, and the ceiling fans spun. Except for me smoking pot and cigarettes, laying on the couch, waiting for work, waiting to turn predatory for the evening’s upcoming hunt, there was no movement, no real motion. The house was surreally, oppressively silent during the day, the wind a cross breeze through the French doors on either side of the living room. The room hummed at a very low, dense, disorienting frequency.

I would sit on the couch most of my waking time, and the couch also doubled as my bed. So there I’d sit, smoking cigarettes and pot, trying to write, thinking really crazy thoughts really fast. I’d stare out the window at the relatively cute compound manager doing light utility work in cut off jeans and no shirt. I yelled at the evil, evil cocker spaniels that were the perfect pets for their evil, evil owner, the thing masquerading as a friend, who wanted me to stay with him out of the ulterior-ness of his heart. But almost no moving around. I fancied myself a vampire, a loner, The Outsider. One who sleeps during the day and hunts relentlessly at night. I had to be still to save energy for crazy thoughts and Night’s approach.

I looked forward to work. I was a cashier in one of the last Key West-funky retail shops on Duval Street. The shop was all airline related and the signature logo of the store was a cool graphic of a DC-3 taking flight over a palm tree, the artwork more striking, of course, than my description. The store sold a lot of t-shirts bearing this logo, and the image struck some universal chord in people, and they’d want to know everything about the store, the logo, the experience of living in Key West, etc… which was all well and good, but…

I wanted to be quiet and cruise guys on the street. Or, if I had to talk, it would be to Nathalie or Ana next door at the jewelry shop. Or I’d let my paranoia about my then boyfriend’s real or imagined actions fuel my justification in advance of what I might be doing later, given the opportunity. I was The Outsider, and Night would open himself to me, saying "Look what there is for you! Men, drugs, alcohol, an endless number of interesting, beautiful acquaintances for whom you can re-invent yourself time and time again, dancing, as late as you care to stay, sex in the bathroom, sex in the alleyways, whatever you want, baby. It’s all for you. And it’s all good -- in a manner of speaking. The cost to you is very little, and we’ll talk about that later. In darkness, everyone will want you. Look around; they do already."

So I’d cut a deal with Night out of misdirected loneliness, searching for answers in places where my questions were irrelevant. And then, work would be over. It was time to go out. Night had control of my ever-darkening heart.

But already, I’m going too fast.