Streetlights are for Suckers

I'm about to head off, out of my comfortable spot on the bed with my computer, to the cold, pitch-black streets of Whistler.

My mind will continue to play tricks, and it will continue to scare the pants off me.

I need a beating stick, or pepper spray, or a hammer, or brass knuckles, or rocks, or a paintball gun, or lasers, or an iron pan, or a bat, or crowbar with me.

Or a flashlight.