Supposedly, this evening rocked the kidneys. Yes, a pair of organs were kicking, but it was a pair of organs organized a wee bit lower. It was sobriety meets messy and the bass underneath the beds kept the girl-organs a-bumpin'.

I had gone anticipating a boy. I had let him go to feel the bass. I settled into the glow of my surroundings -- the too drunk and too attached boys dancing on the beds.

This is a part of our city that most do not see. I like it. It is open, without being childish, crass without being bullish.

The periphery is a continual motion machine drawing in the hip and sway of diversity. But, this edge is controlled by centrifugal force. It spits out as hard and fast as it draws in, and it has spun the pioneering crew out beyond its tidy hemline.

All that is left in this spiral-jettied wasteland is an odor. The space that was once made full has now been transformed into a ghostly cipher. There are messages in and around this scented space. The center writes the code for the container. But the scent keeps the space from collapsing. The cast out dwellers have coded a fragrant and malodorous message.

And now a new batch of spirited and witty ones will be selected to sashay into this fringe and the cipher will be once again filled, for a time. Can they pick up on the remnant scents? Can they read it? It contains a warning. How long will it take for the continual motion machine to spit them out?

There periphery is merely a space to temporarily sojourn.

Telephone booths have disappeared. Public phones are no longer on every corner block. And the quarter calling machines that still exist are beat up, punched in and greasy. Ears can't place calls if bodies can't find phones. Automatic listening devices are everywhere; receivers are now distributed along bodies--technical mutations stuff sensory pores. The business of street communication is schizophrenic.

It could be high noon and I could be enwrapped in the shortest shadow. I could be running in the sun. I could be splitting myself in two. But I am drinking the remains of this morning's coffee. I am wondering about fear. It's easy to wonder about.