"Waking to Freedom"

Marble curls and olive grace—he didn’t see me staring, or maybe he did.

November Noir, under the Beaver Moon
I woke before dawn, barefoot and free. No nightmares. Just silence. Just sky. The November Beaver Supermoon hovered westward, veined in silver, slipping behind Fort Hill like a secret. I stood on the cold concrete balcony, wind swirling, phone in hand—trying to capture what could never be caught. The world was still. Even the ghosts held their breath.

Morning Measures
My blood pressure was high. Again. I could let it spiral—let the numbers become prophecy. But I’ve learned to let it be. Moods rise. Pressure falls. The body plays its games.

Still, I blame the horror film: Don’t F…k in the Woods. A grotesque parade of nudity and gore. Women exposed. Men spared. A film that left me aching for silence. I’ll never watch it again.
​
And yet—I know I will. Horror is my ritual. My last breath may come with a scream on screen.

Voting Confusion, Saleh’s Gaze
At the Library on Nelson Street, the system couldn’t decide who I was. District 1. District 2. Old address. New address. The usual bureaucratic blur.

After voting, I ran into Saleh. He asked how long it took. I said two minutes. He smiled, reassured.

He wore a gray turtleneck that made him look like a poem—olive skin, black curls, posture like a prince. I stared too long.

We talked cigarettes. He offered a cheaper brand. I nodded, craving one like Alan Feinstein in Looking for Mr. Goodbar.

Yes, Saleh like Saleem, is someone I could spend eternity with and never tire of the repetition.
But I wonder about his wife.

Would she see what I see? Would she see through me?

Election Stakes
Beyond the usual drama—mayors and handsome legislators—there was a vote to legalize a winter sports facility on protected land. Mount Van Hoevenberg, Lake Placid. Olympic ghosts from 1932 and 1980.

I voted yes.

Preservation through expansion. A paradox I could live with.

Tony and the Descent
Later, I found myself descending into the Field Library basement with Tony—silver-haired, wild-eyed, Einstein of Whiskey River.

Signs pointed everywhere. We wandered. At the desk, a woman asked if we were together.

Tony replied, “I’m not even sure where I am.”

Laughter erupted.

Tony is chaos and charm. People love him or hate him.

I love moments like that.

Paul Hardcastle 'Walking to Freedom'