The rain drizzled its way across windows and the thing most noticeable were the electric lights. People use them, but don’t care that much about them. The regular proletariat, say, does not despise them, - they are rather just functional. As for the others, I don’t know or really care (they probably don’t look). But the lights, green and orange, blue, there, waiting, so diligently, and the water patters on them. Sometimes drops stay, and then the glow and the roundness are like the droplets on an autumnal or summer leaf in the forest valley. Or, they make the neon to appear even odder, more peculiar, because now the light that is thrown has something uneven about it, but nicely uneven, non-egoic,- like a deer with a burr, like a woman who is beautiful but does not know it,- something like that. And what else of the night then? So many vehicles and the coyotes if they are around maybe don’t venture far for the import of rain can sometimes even dampen a spirit feral. We park and cut past the lines and order some coffees, looking like just other faces in the crowd. There is a man who is alone and he has too much gear and he stumbles but is a good sort. A woman, sophisticated without being haughty, which is rare, - walks past twice in her smart glasses and clothing. She is not from the top shelf, the uppermost echelons, but just below that and yet still slightly above upper-middle-class. It’s fine. It’s what most people aspire to whether they believe it or not. And the lights in there, wild in their power and prowess, - glowing, fluorescent, a bit gauche and clinical at once, - but somehow it’s okay, - it’s just the world, - and nobody said that particular atmosphere was going to be anything inspirational. We are far from an ocean, from the sounds of the sea and the sights of the waves and their whitecaps. But, - we are also far from critics and arm-chair quarterbacks, from the non-creative that try and have an opinion about creativity and what it means. So we are well. A truck goes by out there. More lights, - many of them, - all around the front and then the sides and top of the cab. And speaking of cabs, we are far from cabochons and wear nothing around our necks but the Holy Spirit and Its Grace. It is all we need (plus the coffee), as we head back out past the good looking woman, the awkward man with too much gear, the rest of the crowd. It is all we need as we venture through the rain and think of the dreams that the coyote dreams as the rain hits its den pat pat pat.