I got back from work, 14 hours after I'd begun the day. I had walked in the heat and ridden the crowded subways and found myself standing at the door of my apartment, no keys and no roommates to let me in.

There was nothing I could do. It was getting late, and I had to pack. In two days I would leave this place for three months, for school. I have been wrapped up in work and in going back home, stress gripped me for 18 hours a day.

I got a water from the corner store, where I always go for drinks. Needing something to do, I decided to walk along the beach. The stone bench that runs along the beach had recently been repainted by the locals, a proud display of community. I sat on the section painted by the Subgenii, my back to Bob. A rhythmic sound floated to me, calming me and calling to me. I found myself listening to a group of young men playing bongos, and a guitar player who had wandered by. After I had sat down to listen, a nei player happened by and added to the mix.

And the older woman sitting next to me started talking to the girl my age who had just walked up, about the beauty of the night and the mysterious force that had drawn our growing group together. The woman's voice blended with the beats as she talked about the different walks of life represented, the races and backgrounds. I heard a few other languages and many different accents. I found myself writing this node, trying to remember this forever. I should leave, go back to the bustle of moving; I should go back to the magic box and worship information, contemplating the mysteries of Minsky; I should call my girlfriend, she must wonder where the heck I am.

Instead, I found myself listening to the woman, the music, the night.

Instead, I found myself.