#17

Two men, smug, in identical black sport jackets, identically shaped shoes, unnaturally long and pointy. Both suits reclined identically with feet crossed, resting on the long knotted wooden bench in front of them. A man sits, vibrating, his leg keeping a hyper tempo, wringing his pale hands. Another, with greasy gray hair defying the pull of the planet yanks his red sweatshirt over his head and gets stuck, for just a moment. Just long for us all to notice that he’s stuck in his sweatshirt. And me, recognizing, nodding at an element of my being that does not go away, and moths flutter inside my stomach looking for light to worship.