We begin making things up by six or seven. Minds of hummingbirds we sip from wells of illusion. Come with me to the eddy of an ever prodding muse to dip our wings in her breathtaking colors.
I Leave as though I am going to work. Instead I walk downtown to meld with the chaotic masses, searching eyes infused with survival. As the morning wears on relentless chatter becomes an undercurrent of whispers that fades with the crowd. The strong scent of sweat and coffee stings my nostrils, clings to my skin. Alien faces are forever etched behind my eyes.
Making my way to the metro I pass the warehouse district. A young addict sleeps against the graffiti covered wall that like her unkempt hair turns golden in the sunset. Her arms are folded around her knees. Awakened from induced euphoria by the nudge of a worn boot she…
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