In the silence of the predawn hours sounds that are often lost in the din of the daylight rule the dead nocturnal air. My office clock chugs with a regular rhythm that will if I let, it bring to mind Pink Floyd’s “Dogs of War”. . . ba dum, ba dum, ba dum ba dum. . . along with that rhythm comes memories of that whole hypnotic hip thing their backup singers had goin’ on. .

Outside the window the wind rushes through the trees and the remnants of today’s storms still swirl around every corner. Wind chimes jingle and jangle in the empty darkness. The clock set’s down the beat . . ba dum, ba dum, ba dum ba dum. . .

I poured another glass of iced tea. Skipped the ice.

Dogs of war and men of hate
With no cause, we don’t discriminate
Discovery is to be disowned
Our currency is flesh and bone
Hell opened up and put on sale
Gather ’round and haggle. . .

The sound of the cubes clacking together is an offence to the night air. . .

. . ba dum, ba dum, ba dum ba dum. . . 3am goes something like this. . .

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