Outside of the mall
Is a little bit more peaceful than the hustle and bustle of consumption hidden behind glass doors like a stage curtain,
But the air still smells like Japanese food
Over soaked in soy sauce
Bought from the crowded upstairs court

The bench I've sat myself down at (as I fry in the summer heat)
Is brown metal with the same old scratches and stains,
It is the one I laid myself out across
Six score years ago,
Eighth grade,
And too much codeine in my system
To tell where the time had went