A man passes with greasy, curly black hair, and smiling, slaps the parked car as he passes to hold himself up; with the other, he holds a cell phone into which he says, "corn nuts" and passes on through the night.
I'm in a bar, mirrors everywhere. I see myself in smoky yellow lights, smiling, not slapping a car or talking about corn nuts. Not slapping anything. Not liking any store-bought food, or anything, for that matter, enough to talk about it. And then I forget where I am. There's a beer handed to me.
I'm on the front porch, standing just feet from my bedroom. The lights are on. It's cold. I'm with my boyfriend. He tells me he'll be here waiting with open arms when I get back from my trip that seeks clarity. The air is cold. I want to be in bed. Even though I know bed will not fix much at all. I just don't want to be here. Or anywhere. So I stay for awhile.
