The Bitch is Back

I love living in the city. This city. I'm smack-dab in the middle of town, exactly where I want to be. I'm not hearing gunshots nightly; yeah I hear a siren here and there, but I can hear the train at 3 a.m., and it comforts me. It  comforts me in the same way that the rain does here in the desert. It's so familiar, but rarely there.

Tonight was a night when I got both. It's been raining all evening -- the desert's winter rains -- and I went out on my back porch to smoke a cigarette.   I heard both sirens and a couple cop cars. Then I heard the train -- the whistles of the train. Probably transporting coal or cotton, or God know what else. I've always wanted to know what the train whistles mean. I suppose some day I'll find out.

But what I know right now, is that at 2:58 a.m. on a Saturday night is that I love living in the city. And I'm not going anywhere else. This is where I belong.

So Tucson, this bitch is back, and she's here to stay.