Dance in the Full Moon

O, the Frailty of Memory

Sunday, October 12, 2014

10.12

It's a dreadful day to be outside, but there he stands, a hollow bulk of coat layers, next to the dumpster. I have to assume he's fielding an illicit phone call, otherwise why be outside? I imagine a steam-breathed woman on the other side while he no doubt talks to his mother about the first grey day of fall.

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