Over 16,536,661 people are on fubar.
What are you waiting for?
This place hasn't changed enough.
Faint whispers of then. Trace exotic scent of orange blossom.
Anise, jasmine, and sweat dancing on the still dust hung in the air.
I can still feel the cobbles through my sneakers.
The cool wet morning spray as the sun peeks.
The gears creaking on Sutherland's bicycle.
The muted cracked red finish that rubbed elbows and tipped hats to Churchill.
Shook hands with Sinatra.
Quieted quills and correspondence of a widower with crumbs in his bristly white moustache.
The man I aspire to be, a tip of his cabby,
and he's halfway to the market before I open this first envelope
lapped by a far more motivated geriatric.
Took a moment to ponder the particularly crisp paper in my fingers.
Something specific, about a girl with skinned knees
and the very dry grit at the bottom of the bottle.
Oddly my favorite part.
