Late Evening

s. k. nicholas

S. K. Nicholas


How many cigarettes do you have left? One for you and two for me, right? On a scale of one to ten, how bad do you feel? Ignoring the mask you wear, what thoughts run through your head as you lie there at night dreaming of a life you’ve never known? Cut the crap and be honest, just for once, maybe? You write such charming poetry, and charming is your face to match, but nobody likes a liar. Drinking from our cans of Stella, we wander down alleys and trawl through fields using the lights of our phones to guide the way. Giddy like fairies we stumble around block after block laughing at how pointless it all is, but don’t ignore the question. Tell me. No, don’t feed me your chips, and don’t try slipping your hand into mine. Despite my drunken state, I want to know what’s going on…

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