"I hope that shakes out for you."
"I don't."
In a good way, passes between our ears.
In one brain stem and out the other
like coal boiler steam.
"It never does," brassy and hammer whistle.
"It never does," stubbing it out on the bricks.
"You want to go back in?" August has been disgusting,
sweaty and shiny like porn casual Wednesday
everyday, and everything over priced,
glasses sliding on their own condensation
as much as spit flecks from
the everyone busy getting down.
"Yeah." The kids are back in school. "I was not carded
once all summer. Not once," stubbing it out on the bricks.
Back in town. With fakes. "Free time is a bitch."
