I focus on tracing the skyline of the city infront of me with my dirty pinky finger.
It’s hell. I swear to god. I
There are two buildings. The light that refracts through my glasses makes the space in between them look like some sort of magnetic jungle. But with more drugs and more pain and more tears and more vulgar music ripping at my eardrums.
I passed by a kid this morning. He was
I shoved my hands into my pockets and pulled my feet forward.
This wasn’t a city. This was hell. And if this was hell, nobody ought to've blamed me for just walking by. Nobody ever blamed me for just walking by, before...
Was that why I was here?
Is that why he was here?
I am sitting here on my bench. Covering up a long outdated picture of Lucas Arnold, Real Estate Agent. I'd had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Arnold once. Not that he had been in a particularly good mood, and not that I'd spoken a word.
But let me tell you- He didn't look anything like his picture.
(But don't blame him. It's all in good business.)