Sunday, March 10, 2013

the Tenth

I watched him as he rounded the corner, wiping the edges of his eyes as if dust had settled in the crevices instead of salty water. He flicked the tears like lint, disregarding the weight, its salinity and reflection. His sweater bagged at the shoulders; the plastic hanger in his closet at home at fault for stretching the thin-weave cotton that failed to keep the chill of the wind away at night. The edges of his mind dragged too, weighed down with the worries of those who habitually check their bank accounts online, pray silently as they approach the mailbox hoping for a check to have arrived, some sustenance.

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