Numb, beleaguered legs, long wandering uneven pavement. Exhaust passing in a whir of choking fumes. I’m here and I have been before, but not there and not with that man. Iron, cold steel, unfeeling, clad in a rotten homemade jacket, I too un-feel. Jumbled steps down filthy streets climax in a smacking seduction of wet stubbled flesh. A tartar ill conceived and poorly executed. I wish the light was brighter here, in here, not there.
The Ride Home
