Enough of the Night.

It's a little before 5 AM, Central Time, on a Friday morning.

When I was a younger man (and I think I managed to shock a new friend with my age; she seemed to think I was younger than my almost HALF A FREAKIN' CENTURY), I used to dance on the tables and I used to shoot out the lights. And, to finish the Jackson Browne lyric, I used to hang with the the kind of girl that could stop traffic on I-19, in her blue leopard tights......

Five AM was nothin'. It was the third cup of coffee after a 2 dollar breakfast at the Lamoine Hotel, or a theoretical theatrical conversation over coffee, cigs and perhaps a hot fudge sundae at the Big Boy at the end of Washington Street.

We solved a hellava lot of quandaries at Five AM.

And we downed a lot of doughnuts.

Which would explain that part of my life where I was a blossoming alcoholic that looked like an ill-kempt Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.

I feel MUUUUUCH better now.

My point (and I have one) is that I always thought that as I got older, Five AM would be a thing of the past.

In the words of my dear friend Sandeen, "oh, F**K NO!"

Nowadays, if you don't know, I rehearse a very tiring play until a certain time, I go home, have a quick shower, talk to the wife who sometimes recognizes me as her husband, and it's off to work in an office on the sixth floor.

No significant conversation.
No cigarettes.
No hot fudge sundaes or two buck breakfasts.

I think I would actually enjoy it if there was hot fudge.

And no sleep, either.

But, I have to tell you, I had this really GREAT break-through yesterday; I finally got the pages out of my head and began to play. And it was liberating.

Tiring, but liberating.




Yeah. This time of day is for the young, and scrambled eggs.