Heading to Toronto, riding the rails. Strands of lights under eaves brighten the shadows. I step into the light of which I’m not. Oddly lovely are the people.
A stranger in the cafeteria can’t cope with being known. That blonde, of course she sees, the hate within her like gun powder. A conveyor belt to the next; a family of pink bubblegum sit in line, matching hair with nothing to lose.
A trip around the sun, high fives, and three white-lit candles. Be wary, step carefully, have fun.
And above all else, I promise what I said is true; no one would I rather sit next to at a funeral than you.