Range

I crossed the river tonight, its surface sparkling silver under the light of the rising-golden-warmer-than-it should-be-at-this-time-of-year-full-moon. Fool's moon. I wanted to stop and walk along its bank to feel the evening come quietly down around me. I wanted to, but I didn't, even though I knew it will likely be the last such evening for a long, long, long season. 

Sometimes you're forced to make choices. Sometimes there are no good choices to be made. Like if you made the choice to pee in your travel mug, covertly, sitting in your car on a residential street early in the morning in Holyoke, Massachusetts for example. You might consider that it's hard to maintain your dignity once you've committed to that choice. And you'd likely be right, but you'd also proceed. And then you might find yourself driving out of there, glancing around discretely, regaining just a little bit of class by not dumping the contents of your travel mug until you're a few miles away, by yourself, stopped for a red light at an intersection without a crosswalk so no one's going to have to walk through your business. 

You might also find yourself making a note to yourself not to just rinse the travel mug tonight but to make good use of some hot water and dish soap. 

You might find yourself in a situation like that. You never know.