It was Thursday, snow was falling and that was too bad. Not for me but for everyone who plugged into the rat-race world each weekday- who offered up their pound of flesh for a flash in the pan. Not me. I knew that there were all too few pounds of flesh to offer up for all too many flashes in a very large pan.

Instead, as usual I stood in the open pre-dawn window, watching the snowflakes fall as the cold cleared my head and stirred the nostalgic smell of autumn from the leaves crushed under her hot body as I pressed her down in the snowbank behind the one room schoolhouse.

Without particularly deciding on this destination there I was, as if a lifetime didn't separate me from the little kid with the big eyes and the red cheeks, blowing into his mittens before he put them on again after taking them off to grope her hairless crotch through her cotton panties.

It wasn't anything like it was in the slick magazines that smelled of ink and were cool against my cheek when I pulled her close like my latest fascination, Miss March, back then when even ink on a page could get me hot.

Nothing was left of those days nor the ones that came after. Nothing was left of Dominique or Kitty or Tara or any of the other nameless flesh that fell beneath my blade way back when, in the days of myth when I used to mow them down like the thistles in the field- in those long ago days before I even knew first hand how girls looked under their clothes.

Nothing left but silhouettes on the snow.

I took a deep breath of winter and pulled the window closed on the past- pulled it closed and climbed back into bed with my coffee and my memories and the still potent smell of leaves upon my tongue.

The bedroom was dark gray, no early morning light to tempt me, nothing like responsibility and duty demanding that I get up and go off to fight the pointless battles in the work force army against an enemy that was ruthless and a liar that lied so well that it made it seem like it was better than truth- that truth that was for dreamers and parasites that took up space without paying the rent.

"Who cares?" I said except I said it to myself. No point in making enemies.

Not that I cared that much. It was too late for that. Besides, that kind of caring was pointless. It was more important to care about things that mattered, like how autumn had a taste and how the smell of leaves could be enough to confuse the senses, or how her skin smelled like ink when I kissed it. Things like that mattered more. The other dance was over, just like the dance in the community center where the kids in grown up clothes did the stroll and tried to rub against each other as they slid past.

Now how did I end up there? Did it really matter any more? One ripple melded with another and the water stretched out almost beyond belief, out to that point in time where everything supposedly ended but did it really? The silhouettes had to come from something that cast a shadow didn't they? The light to cast that shadow on the snow had to originate from somewhere didn't it? The end was out there but the end of what?

The end of Thursday? That would happen soon enough. Why worry about silhouettes on the snow?