There are so many stars printed in the sky. We climbed through little trees and brambles, up a hill to get here. I could say that this is our spot. But I know better. This spot belongs to the city, the night, to the construction workers, and the water drums. But not to us. This empty highway. Empty, abandoned, forgotten. A highway. It travels from Elmwood through Wickeden. We lie here smoking Camel Reds and staring at the stars on I-95. We walk to Wickeden and buy refreshments at the Coffee Exchange. We speak of the present and the future; only reverting to the past to amuse ourselves. We walk to the park. I lay on a bench while everyone jumps on a swing. The four boys and myself. No swings left, so I sit on the blue chair-swing. Francis, Norlan and Anthony jabber in Spanish. Steve laughs because the foreign words amuse him. It only leaves me feeling empty and left out. I tell Anthony to keep in touch. Five years from now, we can be together again, doing exactly what we do now.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
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