you must stop for pints if you are to keep moving, touching, breathing the city. those drippy passer by's with smug want to get home looks on their jugs bump on by. your body's skin: a thin layer of dust and street obscenities. you aim, you take a soul just like that; just as a dump truck driver throws some mess into a gapping dark hole. both minds are clear of the destination marching forward with confident unspoken orders. milk man, bicycle commuter, photographer, deliverer of processed Japanese goods are there too.
1 comment:
make sure to order the fresh cut fries with the beer. there is no excuse not to.
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