brooklyn.

it was dark and raining cats and dogs. my eyes, downcast, watched the water as it collected dirt and oil from the sidewalks into pools that reflected a kind of warhol-ian image of rainbow colored storefronts. not having an umbrella, i was hunched over and wet, hair become strings of yarn, inhaling droplets racing down my face. every song i had listened to that night was about me. (heart heavy as lead). it was hard to remember a time that i walked upright.

the air coming up the avenue was bitter and bit into my arms and legs. my stomach was sending mixed messages of hunger and nauseousness and therefore, unknowingly, i turned down the wrong street only to find a very angry dog and a man smoking a cigarette. in the rain. as far as omens go, this certainly wasn't a good one, so i stumbled backwards and pulled myself up to venture toward the nearest doorway. they passed quietly, though stopping briefly to glance at the odd figure shivering in the flickering florescent light.

i kept on telling myself, there's still time. there's still time. there's still time. walking the rest of the way juggling various vowels and consonants in my semi-conscious consciousness. closing the heavy glass door behind me, another day down.

(things are great, but they're just not right.)