"Like my cat, I would like to find a woman that when I rub her belly she falls on her back and puts one leg up on the table."

Here I am, sitting, enjoying a glass of port.

Tonight, I bolted.

I was with friends at my local and I freaked out.

It was completely internal, but it happened.

I was done.

I couldn't sit there anymore. I had to move. I had to get out and start walking. Some thoughts had to be thunk. So I left, overpaying, but I left.

It is a very odd sensation; the need to be alone. It sneaks up on you, crawling up your spine, giving you the heebie-geebies the whole time. It is almost like some higher power is pulling your strings. You are the puppet; not in control, but responding to what is done.

So, I left. I got up, threw money down and stormed out, poking my headphones in as I took my first steps. And I walked.

It was what I needed. I wandered to quiet places that I found: through Christie Pits and wandered along the base lines, along Hallam where traffic feared to tread, and along the alleys in my hood, trying never to venture on a real street unless I had to.

It relaxed my head. Allowed me to think some thoughts that were long overdue and listen to some tunes. It was exactly what I needed.