Wet canvas.
PBR respite.

I should have had dinner.


I feel the train rumble beneath my heavy eyelids.

Mosquitos and bums on bunches under tarps.

Dredded foreigner asks for a smoke. I shake my head and smile. Don't you know there are more important things going on in my head than my goddamn curse to be kind? Fuck off. I am waiting for my heart to be shattered into a million more pieces. Couldn't you hear it when you approached?

I walk to the strand. To read poetry written about me. And about all of the other hers. I somehow can't help to still feel proud seeing his name on the shelf.

Unanswered texts. Game over.

Time for another drink.