Standing on the corner, the street lamp flickers to a halt. My head spins and eyes dart from boujee dog-walkers to trainspotted tramps. Two ends of the bread line. Both love animals. Neither eats bread.
I can’t work you out. Who loves whom in this relationship. Its confus-ed. Like smiling upside down; or downside up?
I’ve tried it with everyone and it’s all the same, but all so different. Women are uptight, men are tight on the way up. I smoke a joint and stub it out with my foot. Sniff the air. Smells like fish.
Lies. It smells like a turd. Or is that just me? I haven’t washed my clothes or changed in days. And we can all do with a fresh start.
You say you want space, then you come at me with full force. What are we even trying to do any more? The funky chicken; or the mashed iPotato. Both sound nice.
Sounds nice. Sounds like mice. Theres a rat in the kitchen the size of a small dog. A small dog the size of a rat. They melt into the floor, and there is nothing lost between them.
You puff and I pant. Just breathe normally or neither of us will enjoy it. Take your time and we will both finish first.