I am famished, not for food but for fame. I eat glitter and swing madly on chandeliers, hoping for some attention.
My brain has been botched by forgotten fantasies, I lived the dream up in the streetlights.
Now mercy comes to me like a black cat, sleek and mysterious, angry from clamoring in the alley for food.
His eyes dart up at me, as if to say, do you think you know what famished is?
I light a smoke and walk across the Main Street.
The power lines here cast shadows.
Mercy and Hope are playing cards, I watch them through the shop window.
Meanwhile I am out here playing checkers with my mind, waiting for the man.
