At nighttime he wonders. Wonders about those decisions. To stay, to leave, to do nothing. He thinks about it staring at the nights sky, which in the big city, never becomes fully black. The tree branches mapping their complex simplicity like charcoal capillaries against the infinite heart beating blue everyday. He wonders about the pretty women he knew and the not so pretty women and where are they now and what if…And how he left, and how they left, and how it never started despite the all the lightening and dry brush. He wonders about the self sabotage and delusions of grandeur. About the doubt and insecurity he sore like a second skin till he somehow shed it, Till he wriggled out leaving it behind like a fossil that may be found 1000 years from know, and that they will ponder the why, like he does on the nights that are never really go dark.