Would I kill a light to light up a fire? To create a pyre that burns my wishes in the night air, blowing smoke into the face of god so that he knows I am here. A religious man for an hour, when there are twenty four hours in a day. A sad thought is considered upon sips of Russian vodka and American made beer. I stir thoughts and dreams together, they melt like ice cubes in my cup of life. Wishing for a cigarette to calm rivers of thoughts. I say rivers plural because there are too many to count. I pick one like a sailor picks his voyage and upon selection a choice is made. An adventure like a “choose your own adventure book” we once enjoyed as children. What will our story tell?