being 16 and walking along 1st ave trying to catch the breeze which always seems wayward.
the smell of shisha, the scent of alcohol that seems to drip out of every sweat pore. i hiccup, i absorb every drop of grease and oil from the railings of air conditioners and all the grime off the lower east side concrete.
i don't know how i end up here. all i know is this pile of leaves and soft dirt makes for a nice place to rest my head. it doesn't matter that the next day every passing dog will need to stop here too. every star is oscillating in tiny circles now and the edge of the moon is a parameter i cannot measure.
before this, there is twilight, made beautiful by memory, spires and the sharpness of arabic ingrained into the baritone notes of prayer.
