From the notebook:

I am sitting on the roof of my house. The moon is bright enough to write by and I've never written up here. Soon the summer will come and it will be less pleasant. But nice for now, with a sliver of cool breeze and only the faintest wisps of cloud to interrupt my light.

Besides pen and paper, I have brought two cigarettes and the lollipop shaped like a die that Jessica gave me. I haven't eaten much today so I'm really excited for that lollipop. Beno and I have been training for the marathon on May 6th so I have been avoiding even the occasional cigarette. I managed this easily until I picked up my copies of Transmetropolitan again. I'd be miffed about being influenced so easily if I weren't also writing something longer than two paragraphs for the first time in a week. Maybe I'll bring a beer up here. Seize the day and whatnot.

I laid down on my back as I smoked because I'd never done that before either. I imagine that people who smoke in their homes might at times do so in bed. These people might have also fallen asleep while doing so and been all burnt up otherwise I'd seek them out and ask their advice. I kept the cigarette in the corner of my mouth because the ash might fall into my mouth and eyes. I did not fear falling asleep as I lay back. The roof shingles greedily drank the warmth from my skin. This upset me. Heat is expensive and I can not get it back. I sat up.