Young...

Doing what we’re doing to do what we will do.

Walked for an hour’s worth of passing cars and maybe-empty houses, pit-stops for white smoke and maybe a cup or two just to rest the ankles. Another one of those. Rest the head to the sound of a dead man who’s not quite dead yet. Or wait until it all creeps up to the back of the eyes and then it’ll disappear for no good reason again. Never good reason.

Perhaps they should bury the hatchet. In a box under old wall-scrawlings-turned-essay-notes, irrelevant glossies and a whole file of 5.30 articles. No dice. Prefer the tumbling kind. Didn’t make sense but at least it did; at least red was still blue.

Then it all gets extraneous. They’ll always have that feeling. Maybe that book was right after all. It just never talked about the gray though; never taught about the gray. So what will they do about the gray?

(At least 6)