A cigarette burns between my fingers as I sit on the curb. The sidewalk is wet with air conditioning discharge. A pile of trash less than a meter away is starting to cook. Last night I was showing her pictures of the sandy beach I grew up on. I’ve always been confused. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Lovers in swan shaped boats paddle along the canal. The late afternoon sun shimmers on the surface. Hordes of people wander the banks in various states of undress. They walk dogs and hold hands and hurriedly eat ice cream before it drips down the cone. Simple pleasures cure the lives we lead. 
Read more
And I need all the reasons I can find not to hate myself. But it’s hard. Even the idea makes me shiver. Because I see loving myself like looking down on others. Riding around on a high horse. And I never want to think I’m better then the people I see on the street. The ones who have it rough.   The ones who don’t fit in.   The ones I see my own face in.  
Read more
Sitting on the steps of an abandoned bank that became an abandoned wine bar, I light a cigarette. Two teens smile at me. An older man with tan skin, in a hoodie I notice every day, has given up his dirty looks. We’re a part of each other’s lives. I exhale my first drag. 
Read more