Laughter in the bar. Drink flows, hail fellow, well met.
Standing at the urinal, looking out, through frosted glass into the darkness from whence we came and to which we shall return.
We fear the eternal night, surround ourselves with light but, when we look into the darkness we are faced, struggle as we may to avoid the truth of it,
with the inevitability of death, the undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveller returns.
Returning once more to the laughter. The clinking of glasses while, outside the darkness waits, patiently to swallow me.
(I am blind but can distinguish between light and dark and perceive outlines of objects but not their detail. So, for example I might see a shape but have no idea as to whether it was a man, woman or tree).