Hallway footsteps create a sad rhythm.

Neon lights break

over cracked linoleum.  The elderly

carry groceries in a cold wind; their

facial wrinkles are road maps of



Young people speak of someplace else.

They gather under stars of tragedy,

dreaming in black and white;

visions unworthy of being in color.

Their lives grasp at the first two chances,

while hoping for a third.


Everyone knows you can see the world

from the second story window.




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