The cold right now slams through my
moldy flannel sweatshirt like a bucket of
ice-blue stillwater that
soaks my
chest.
Walk down
the streets until I find a payphone;
one turns up just outside a closed black liquor store.
I walk up and a motion detector light clicks on, brilliant like a
stillborn sun.
The line is busy this time and the next thousand.
Somebody's walking their dog and it barks at me, scuttles off.
The light clicks and shuts down.
Some guy drops his date off but she won't
get out
of the car because she sees me sitting here.
I'm not drunk, lady. Just sad.
Back.