still awake at 4AM.
it’s been a long, long time.
since I could taste the City.
since my moments were purely mine.
the trees, they’re not all the same.
contorted by sidewalk and smog.
streetlamps make fairy-fart shadows.
orange-tinged magical laws.
I sit on the stoop, I’m a local.
an unmarked flies down Harford Road.
this is me, independant.
this is what I sold.