till death do us part.

watching the older lady adjust her husband’s toupee
brings me to tears.

domestic bliss.

the flirty stay-at-home dad jumps in the child’s wagon
to create a stir from the adoring moms. gross.

oh the power of music.

sitting on the subway eastbound, unmoving. strangely i am not annoyed. likely due to New Buffalo. usually, in a situation like this, i am fully prepared to rip off someone’s face. instead i sit calmly dreaming of wild flowers growing in the park, summertime when it melts into dark.

streetcar thoughts.

city lights delight,
reflected in puddles of the night,
steam rising from homeless belongings,
i’m off the hook.
for now.

still life still.

the microwave clock always seems to read the same time.