I walked craving soda, with a head of problems spinning about languidly, but taking notice. I passed the familiars and the lilac tree fuchsia from dusk; into the wind I sang Lou Reed, “A Perfect Day”, slowly:

“You’re gonna reap just what you sow.

You’re gonna reap just what you sow.

You’re gonna reap just what you sow.

You’re gonna reap just what you sow.”

I came to a curb, stepped down, saw headlights. Stepped back, looked up to a red light and ran, ignoring a green haze halfway across. The cars were exhilarating; they came close. A man on his bike rode past in a hat and looked up at me and he might have smiled. Somebody opened the door to their home and let out their music. I walked across pavement, pebbles and cracks, still singing out loud, wishing someone would hear me.

Then the realization hit me like a drug injected, except better. Better because it was real, and it was right. I’m gonna reap just what I sow.

A fault line in my brain shifted, and I chose not to perceive the ravages of the earthquake, instead I focused on the fertile ground underneath all my cracked concrete.

I thought: “That’s how it is? Yes. And I knew it all along. Imagine. Where did I go wrong? Why? No such thing as bad luck. Take responsibility. I’m gonna reap just what I sow. Create it better. Work. So much to do now. Don’t waste time. Yes!” Problems solved in a split-second of Lou Reed clarity.

I looked up. The fuchsia had evaporated, evolved into little pearls, dead open oysters flung randomly across the dark with their chattels fixed and shiny. Clouds mutated and migrated before my eyes, and I could see them because there was a moon. A few minutes of this, maybe.

I awoke, took a few steps forward and dropped my change happily into the glowing green machine. Tiny digital letters said, “Hello! Thank you!” and steadily departed into their revolving hole. That’s what I had wanted to say to the machine. I laughed. I ran back across the street.