10, 10, a 10, planets must be aligning, the stars, the suns, the heavens line up true and straight, light focusing, enhanced, enveloped, entrusted to higher things, and suddenly the mirror i was looking into becomes a window, a door, that opens and i walk through, and words caught on pages of the tempo section tempt me, tease me, titillates me, challenge and corrupt, numbers and predictions that i've read before, that i've all heard before, money, jazz, truth and maturity, all things i've heard before, and a plan comes together, and dreams and thoughts of visions, of those nightly visits from painters, drawers, sculpters, creators of falsities, of last chapters of novels unread, unfinished, spoilers if you will, of lives not lived, and smiles and wonderment at it all, and the joy of walking down the street, of going window shopping again, of appreciating truth and beauty in all its forms, especially as it walks down the street in a nice skirt, bouncing quarters, or cuts deep then comes under, or serves drinks, and me, as always, credit card in pocket, wallet full of cash