It all began on a nice warm evening on June 24th. I was sitting at the end of the suburban circle I live on. Smoking a cigarette and drinking my Dr. Pepper, I mused for several minutes about the purpose of life and my place in the universe. It was shortly after trying to locate the North star that I became annoyed with the streetlamp obscuring the view in it's 50,000 candlepower halogen glory.

Then- a miracle of sorts. Just as I expressed my interest to see the night sky, the light was gone. As the glow disappeared, I could see the stars. Perfectly framed between trees on either side and the mystical streetlight on the bottom was the Big Dipper.

The god in the light was not without a sense of irony it appears. The Big Dipper is the constelation belonging (if it is possible for such a thing to be owned) to my ex-girlfriend Stephanie and I. On so many nights we would sit outside and look for it. Now disgusted with the repressed memories (she really was a bitch), I also remember the agonizing nights I howled her name at the sky, which now reminds me somewhat of "A Street Car Named Desire" praying for some kind of answer. Finially she broke my heart and in a way I was glad it was over.

Call me heathen, but my god lives on top of a pole at the end of my street, and he always gives straight yes or no answers. Does it really make me so different to have faith in something completly crazy?