We cash our checks at the Galaxy Liquor Store, spend some of that new money right there, then go back to the company office and drink some more with our dispatcher. It's his birthday and everyone is having a good time. Now T. has got it in his mind to ride up Mount Pleasant Street and buy some of that "sweet shit." He rides ahead of me on his bicycle, so when I catch up to him at the dark corner of a side street, he is already sitting down on the curb between the men with the folding metal chairs who seem to own this intersection and signal to everyone who passes by. Conversation, vague transactions ensue. Because I am with T, everyone shakes my hand and delivers the punch lines of their jokes in my direction, so I can laugh with them. This is not Rilke in Paris. This is Washington, D.C. in August, so when my friend has got his shit, or made arrangements to pick it up, I say "See you later," and leave him to the next stage of his night. I turn toward the possibility of the Black Cat. Always the promise that some of the fellas might already be standing at the bar with their backs to the world. And now the sky is clear following this afternoon's brief rain and it is good to see how the clouds coasting in on such a glorious high pressure system can hint at the autumn weather to come. I can't help but look up as I pedal. I like the way those clouds glide in over the skyline, like kings in a procession. Self confident, not searching for anything.