The clotheslines stream out the windows above the street. The linens blowing in the fine breeze, in the hope that it will blow away the soaking that blew away the grime and glory once evidenced on the sheet. Once, I saw a beautiful linen comforter for sale. I asked the sales person how much it cost. She did her job well. I told her that. Still, I left the store without the comforter.

The sidewalk was broken up in spots and I walked on other spots seeking the flat. The street moves in waves, the air blows above, the rails escort me up the stairs. A phone rang as I entered the elevator, he spoke softly to someone who left his ear reddened by the seventh floor. I heard the elevator ting when I left.

I was wearing a long leather band for a necklace. It went down past my shoulder blade and filled the space between my breasts. It looked nice, give or take. It was the jacket that looked good. The sunglasses hide my eyes from me seeing the depth of my scars, or from urbanites recognizing my apprehension. A numb leg carries me along. I identify him in a line-up. I walk away numb.

I seek shaded moments while comprehending the coffee at my lip, the melamine below my elbows. Out the window, some walk in a hippy-strut, some lunge at the thigh, I drink the coffee alone. I just want myself back. To find out where I went and then walk there to get it. The boarded beach walk, the lighted basketball court, empty storefronts. I make my mark with no distinction except the headlights that light my knees while crossing. Without anyone at my stride, no one holding the dog. There is no one at my stride. No one held the gun to my head. They held it to his. He wore that tie to work and then around his wrists. She sang softly for him at the funeral, his mother, sweetly, I think. I do not remember. We were tied up to the fence, facing the stranger, he let his credit to the Earth roll past us as he spoke about wanting our watches and wallets. He really wanted our money.

I just remember wanting to cup my hands over my breasts and tuck my hands into my armpits where it was warmer and make myself go away. Say what I wanted, which was, leave us alone. Please leave us alone. The turtles moved around in their bowl in the middle of the night. The rocks they bask on, clanged. Fuck. Now I’m awake. The bed has no schedule on when it will cushion; the length of the night a quiet country mile, with tears enough to water a plant. Fuck. Now, I’m awake.