The return to standard time means that my evening walk is in total darkness. I don't like walking around in the dark here. The neighborhood streets are barely lit in some places, and the sidewalks are uneven with jutting hunks of concrete, and they're full of nuts, twigs, decaying organic debris, dumb cats that don't know to get out of the way then freak out when you practically step on them, squishy rotting fruits that homeowners don't care to sweep into the gutter. Trees aren't responsibly trimmed, there are stray low branches which can't be seen in the dark, I get it right in the face. It's like an obstacle course, preposterous.

Also the people. The side streets are mostly deserted, the only people out are the homeless and the angry loners and the female joggers in sports bras. It's not even that late, but people here turn in early I guess. Last night I turned a corner and there was a young guy doing slow stylized martial arts moves in the intersection in the stark light of the streetlamp. Even I could tell his moves were bogus, lazily copied from movies. He had on a basketball jersey and shiny athletic pants with white stripes going up each leg. He looked intense and was muttering unintelligible threats to imaginary persons. I walked by and he saw me and then there were fulminations coming my way, oh boy. My crime was witnessing him being a loser jackass. He yelled at me. "Punk! Bitch!" We all know people like this, the furious young somewhat unnerving testosterone men of our time. Slightly off. Vietnam would've been nothing without these types. "Maggot!" It didn't scare me at all, I've seen it a million times. He's in his own little world, a hazy realm of unfocused rage and churning sexual confusion. Still, I prefer not to run into it when I'm just trying to have a walk.