carving names into the woodgrain in old El Salvador. set the scene in your head: open air cafe, smiles and bad checks, squandering morale. vagrancy helps us hold our grudges. we are the greatest of all time, only we missed our mark and trailed off somewhere into a whisper. they always said our eyes gave us away, but i never really got that until now. it's inevitable that our eyelids will drift back and forth between sleep hemispheres until we accept the dormant fate of three twenty four AM. "you could be the death of me," you said, eyes fixated on the door, burnt out cigarette hanging from your cracked bottom lip.