I had tried to take a different road when out doing my walks before work, at least within the confines of my local neighborhood. It always helped keep things mixed up, and there was a sense of adventure in the rare occasion I would get lost. A new street this evening; Timberhorst. Where do they get these names? The street started off sloping up just a bit, and rolled much more steeply back down at the other end. Just ahead in the dark of the sleeping neighborhood, at the peak of the crest, was a house, fully lit and teaming with all forms of life. Similar, I imagined, to how the head of a zit might look under a microscope. This was a college town, after all, but I never really cared for house parties–in the same way Indiana Jones doesn’t care much for snakes–so it wasn’t a struggle to simply walk on past. Two guys were out on the porch doing what house party drunks do best.