she pulls lilacs from sewer drains and he walks over to her, resplendent, dashing, missing tufts of hair, cut eyebrows.
she smiles and offers him a molar. he kneels down, takes it and fits it into his coat pocket. it drops through the tear in it and rolls aropund his ankles.
we’ve seen this all before, he says and points out the green sky, the orange haze of autumn, the crows in the distance.
she nods, stares at nail bitten fingers, and whispers, but we were younger then. so much younger.