Et cetera.
The potential for trouble constantly surrounds us, a thousand of Pandora's wicked boxes hiding around every corner. The trouble we finally experience firsthand is merely the contents of the particular box we choose to open.

Crowley wrote, "Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law." But we are not Rabelais, and reality is a persistent demon. Broken promises become angry daggers, guilty blades. In the early morning light, the line between guilty pleasures and just plain guilt is a very faint one.

Tomorrow night, when the fireworks arc over the shimmering lake surface, it will remind me of your mouth. The mere possibility of you is a sparkling, clandestine gift that I am wearing strapped to my inner thigh like contraband. Perhaps, someday, you will find me and you will tell me that the rules have changed, and we will know the contents of our box to be infinitely more sublime.