Wet dumpster metal glinting in cadmium streetlight. Car horns slurring. A crowd of strained voices. There were other people out there, somewhere. There doesn't seem to be anyone now.
Head thrown back. Tracers flit across eyes. Chipped white reflective paint phosphorescing on asphalt. There's a hum coming fro(more)m somewhere. Everywhere.
Brachiating lights in fetid bathroom stalls. Dirty needles. A stranger's face leering out from the frame of an oxidizing mirror. Intermingled, thoughts of family flit to the fore. Paper napkins, plastic plates. Ballpark franks boiling in stovewater. Rabbit-eared coat hangers. Plywood wainscoting. Laughter. The connection between the two worlds seems unbridgeable.
Ahead is all leer and looming. But there is nothing behind, and there is no stopping. Here and now is just the absence of space between a life lived and an arduous unbecoming.
Windows darken. Corrugated steel shutters clatter. Shaking, sick, hollow. Anything starts to seem fine. Anything is better than nothing. (less)