By Stagnant air free of dust mites and not the sound of a single footfall to burden me with company. The station as empty as an amphibian’s eyes. Railways lie rusted long unused. An arrival is a hopeless endeavor yet I see the man as I leave. His name is Rorschach and he is everyone I have never known. The universe, suspended by silver loops, bounces against my hip as I approach him. All around me, music. The melody of thunder and harmony of car horns. Raindrops smudge rouge I didn’t don. Left and right, buildings rise. An apartment complex with an overturned Shopping cart, left wheels still spinning, in its parking lot. The doctor’s office where Nurse Kelly sells special syrup to the good boys and girls of Stockton, a gas station With a funny bird on its sign. Half priced fudge and Cheesy pies strain the air with their fragrance. He stands under the bent Magnolia Street sign with gleams of cigarette buds scattered around his bare toes. His smile as beautiful and as sour as a string-less piano. His voice southern, not in the kind of way that growls like the engine of a truck hustling through mud, but the smooth stuff, drawing in all those dancing debutantes. The shadows of skeleton oaks engulf his being. My pace and heart crescendo. My heels click against the concrete like
like
like the annoying clank of my ceiling fan.
My pens falls onto fake wood, just as Lucifer fell from the heavens, and I sigh. My tools taunt me. The ghastly yellow highlighter brighter than the contents of my mind. 19