Night. A breezy night. Warm enough to be out and feeling one with nature, but with a warning chill that if you’re out, you should be with someone to keep you warm, to keep you safe.
Who’s there for him?
He takes a swig from the forty bottle of Old English. He’s not drinking beer, it’s filled with water. Beer has passing out in strange places and looking for his name in his wallet memories for him. Alcohol made him loose, muddy. He couldn’t ever afford to be like that again.
Again the conversation comes to him, echoes and sharp and vivid and sunlight, just like her…
“I’m sorry, but I can’t stay,” she had said.
“What do you mean you can’t? You already have
for-“, he had begun.
“No..you’re different-“, she had said quietly.
“We’re both-”
“Not me. You. I don’t see you anymore and that’s
what I loved…”–
Lines from a balcony, five years ago. He shifts, the left foot now crossing over the right foot. He scratches himself and mumbles.