Lighthouse

Reading through this journal it’s becoming increasingly apparent that the night has become a period of intense activity and excitability. Everything happens in the once-grim bleakness of non-day. We are night owls, riding the airwaves of nocturnal bliss.
And apropos, the Lighthouse pub was our port of call. It was quiz night and we came to celebrate Hannah’s birthday. More drink. We came fourth in the quiz. Damn the drink. It was nice to see the girls from sixth form again, and I noticed how we had all changed while remaining the same. The evidence of impermanence was all around me. I laughed warm-heartedly as the eternal-now constantly renewed itself and forged in our minds the great temporal fallacy.
A couple of moments rose out of the time fog when I felt I was being watched. The back was turned, the stare was burned. I could sense the heat of a locus vision behind me. I checked my flanks. Did I catch the eye of derision? Was I being paranoid? I will never know.