I walk in the rain, my hands fisted.
On the right I hold a few coins, on the left a few matches.
The coins are money, and I think frugality.
The matches are a giveaway, and I think ephemeral.
It is raining, and I walk.
I listened to a woman rumble on about understanding art.
I ask myself if art needs to be understood.
I do not answer. I am tired of not listening to myself.
Walking up the hill I meet a young man holding a flowery umbrella.
I think of my one-night stands, there a few. I remember one.
I keep walking.
There is another page to turn.
I want to draw again.
I miss him, it's almost killing me.
