DELUSIONAL IN AUSTIN

Several hours ago I was standing on a street corner a few blocks from the infamous UT tower, waiting for a bus. I knew I had at least twenty minutes to kill, but I was perfectly content. The evening was alive with magic and minutiae.

Behind me, just outside an apartment door, two very young women were engaged in an energetic conversation. We’ve all done this, although perhaps not lately. The day is done, the door is open, you say goodnight -- and three hours later you’re still discussing the difference between love, lust and drunken capitulation – perhaps with someone you’ve just met. Or, it might have been some other drastically significant topic. I couldn’t really hear the details of this particular discussion, but I recognized the exuberance and the energy. These young women are still discovering the wonderment of the journey. They are about as far from jaded as I am from human flight. And this evening, they were chatting incessantly and laughing with no restraint. For me, it was a tonic.

In addition to the conversation, I was also under the influence of a steady, seductive breeze, ripe with evening spices and rife with tobacco and other combustibles.

It was intoxicating.

Add to this -- harsh, yellow streetlamps floating iridescent shadows beneath the wheels of passing cyclists and under the feet of pedestrians. It was nothing more than illumination blocked. Light interrupted. But it looked like magic. These shadows were bottomless, film noir pools. And the breeze was suddenly cooler. I leaned into a metal pole and breathed. For the duration of that breath, I was convinced I would live forever.

Then, a door slammed. I turned from my reverie to see the girls were no longer there. I didn’t know if both were gone, both had stayed, or if one had departed with reluctance while the other stayed behind with unspoken regret. In fact, I juggled several scenarios. I was projecting -- romanticizing a simple conversation. The aforementioned streetlights seeped into a space behind my eyes and ignited a headache. The bus was late. I was ready to go. I was ready to move on down the road. I found myself staring at the tower, calculating the striking distance between the observation deck and my forehead.

Finally the bus arrived and took me home.

There was another quick moment, as I was writing this down, when I felt foolishly immortal. My hope is that I retain this delusion, until the day it becomes untenable.