It’s morning and very still and I’m walking perpendicular to three or four hundred but I’m their audience I stop to take a breath while Hunter Morris ninteenfiftytwototwothousandandone lays silently below me every time I breath out my breath floats to join the crowd but they’re really below me it’s hard seeing things for how they really are it’s Monday in December and somewhere in the city people press against each other as they walk -don’t tell me there’s not enough room- like hamsters huddling for warmth in a corner I ignore the dew and sit in the grass and
try to not be so much