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I tried to get Albert to come with us but he says he doesn't do pot. Don't say Do Pot, I say. Pot is not an activity in and of itself. It is a noun. Be accurate, say Smoke Pot. Be silly, say Take the Pot. But do not be my grandma and say Do Pot. She says Do a Peepee, too.

So it is just Skyler and me walking around the parking lot. When we came around the corner I did not like it at first because I was making the mistake of trying to accomplish the sidewalk, trying to get it all behind me, trying to finish it. The sidewalk runs in a rectangle and as soon as we finish one side of it and I think I have gotten something done, there is another side to start. This of course leads to bad thought process about our own personal versions of hell and whether I have been caught in mine early, is this a preview of the ghastly endless treading waiting for me? At last I have the sense to say something out loud and Skyler says No no no stop it with the hell talk, so I do, it's that easy.

The parking lights are impressive, poles that spear way up perpendicular to gravity without toppling. I watch their tops from a distance and I inspect their bases up close. Around the lights are seething clouds of insects and I think it was very thoughtful of someone to put these lights up to distract the bugs from eating us.

There is an excellent rhythm to walking a silent sidewalk high. Skyler does not want to talk and neither do I, I have a slight nag about something but it is easy to shake when I sink into the rhythm of foot forward, swing, foot forward. My machine is a good one, my counter-weights keep me moving forward and upright, this was a good plan all around.