I am wandering through streets, magnanimous in demeanour.
the gentle breeze had filled my lungs with cold air.
The air soothes my lungs.
The soothing is abruptly ended by another pull on my cigarette.
I drift past the people on each side of me,
Whilst the marketplace inside my skull blares noise.
It is filled with merchant idea makers, all trying to make the easiest deal,
They scream at the singular customer.
The agony in their voice is chilling, palpable.
They shout and bellow at him, he is so apathetic to their cause.
Their ventures are meaningless.
**** you, he muses.
No dream is worth that.
No nightmare is without debt.
No thought is without consequence.
No belief is without struggle.
No idea is without rejection.
So he chooses none of them, he just sits.
Uncaring and his opinion unknown to the sellers.
I am still wandering.