his bulbous eyes stared and clamored.
they bulged like cartoon animals do when
a fist throttles them. we hurried past him
because he told us something about nineteen eighty-five
and what if he has a knife in his coat?
the blue and yellow neon lights bathed his face
in commercial light and illuminated
his anguish. he didn't have any money, probably
because those men stole it from him when he was sleeping.
you know the ones he talks about - their suits are always
clean. we hurried past him, and his caffeine eyes
finally went to sleep even though his addled brain
prayed for consciousness. the suits would come to him in the night
and fill him with drugs again.