Leaves on the ground again. You've lived well, haven't you. A wink
and a finger gun missing a finger nail. I don't need to lick the tip anymore
to get a good read on the wind anymore. Fresh skin is easier.
Able to do it. Breath in air on rocks. There was a man walking against
traffic on William Flynn. I thought I hit him, but I only hit his rucksack
with my fender. It flew like a deer stuffed with cotton, or clothing.
People come out of nowhere, don't they? Wish condensing air from
our mouths was cigarette smoke. Hands rest inches on the iron grate table.
"Do you feel like coffee?" Inside the shop are student teacher meetings
and more people than anyone should want to be. "It's too hot, sorry."
I don't think I feel like coffee, my notebook away from foot traffic.
Thank you for asking. Fingertips draw apart. "Do you smoke?"
I don't like to. "Yes." Do you? I haven't seen any squirrels in a long time.
Nature is off its bees again. Maybe. Snow is the great equalizer.
Your eyes are diamonds. Mine too. This afternoon, you and I are
street vendors.
