Lights On

We stood outside a convenience store and looked in. Dark July night it feels like autumn, but inside shone a bright, cold, icy light and shouted its wares to the street. Tragic coolers stood half empty with bottles, screaming colors painted themselves against the window canvas, and in a corner hung a sign saying Send Your Faxes Here! The scene perfect for a camera lense, I missed mine, I wanted it there to help me tell the story. To help me say that the picture made me inexplicably sad, at the blaring white inside, at the peddling of unneeded items after hours when the kids are drunk. My words cannot say them, enough.

Green grass grows slowly in my lungs. With every breath I melt into the bed and let the inadequate letters slip off my tongue. They matter little now. I will get you the picture, instead.