I run two red lights, cup my hands around my mouth
to yell out to somebody on Masonic, I love your purple
bike! but by the time my hands are around my mouth,
they’re too far away. I’ve got clean underwear, deodorant,
work clothes, phone, computer, phone charger, toothbrush,
computer charger, facewash, walnuts and almonds in a
plastic bag, socks, water bottle, work keys, tickets, wallet,
a sleeping bag. It starts to rain three past seven, I’m running
thirty-two minutes late to your house, my contacts and doc
martin’s are on, but not my mother’s necklace. I’ve been
waiting for this eighteenth since the middle of the road-trip.
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