The concrete dreams stretched for miles and miles. An ocean of dull shininess in the afternoon malaise. He reaches to pick at an make-believe quarter-sized scab on his wrist. It helps to distract from the imaginary tumor slowly and unjustly encasing his liver. He needs a second opinion that doesn't involve a revolving door. And yet, contemplating cancer finds him curiously calm. He coughs up wracking abrasion, and is reminded of a sea of long lost faces.
9:38 p.m. - 2016-03-01
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