Five p.m. It's that particular time when dusk is wooing everything that surrounds so that it can incorporate itself, subtly masking the deception. Before you know it, the sun has left along with the secrets of the day. And night has cunningly settled itself around you, around me, around everything, with a grip that is letting everyone know... that any minute now… it’s… it’s…time for supper. That's all really. Or maybe there’s something more to it. Maybe. The drama of the moment, could be, aside from… well, supper.

I like 5pm's. It's a helpful divider. A subtle line in between the what had been and the what could be’s. The remains of the day could be just as enticing as they could be plainly ordinary. I’ll take ordinary, any given time. It’s safe. Anyway, nothing is ever safe.

Cooking breakfast. What a mess! Maybe not as much as lunch but just the same, these are messes I enjoy making. The mess of the other kind, however, doesn’t evoke the same level of enjoyment. I guess messes not borne out of flour and tomato sauce are just not that fun to begin with. Nothing to do but get past it. Maybe move on to the next mess.

Five a.m. I should be ready for sunrise. If I’m able to get out of bed. Yea, if that.