by Lizzie Gibbons
We only look for tomorrow.  Sharp sounds give us the time.  Inside and outside all at once.  Gray buildings give off long shadows.  There is a small girl petting a large dog.  Feeble greens burst through cracked pavement.  The girl is sad.  The girl only looks for tomorrow.  Lights go on.  Our eyes adjust to ink and fluorescence.  We take the girl with us, for she is sad and abused.  We wander away.
I only smell smoke, there is no coffee left.  Do you feel empty as well?  Crushed dreams fall out of windows and under the wheels of dusty cars.  The air is full of smoke.  Africa seems nice right now.  I’m sick of giant dogs and broken-winged birds. The girl is crying but I don’t know what to do.  The city is large and we are small.  If that is good or bad I’m yet to find out. I can’t stop my shaking for much longer. Soon it will be evening again.

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