I walk through the long abandoned skeleton of a nest built with four hands. I stop and nudge a beautiful dried corpse with my barefoot toe. It was supposed to be fireproof. I crouch on hissing knees and draw a picture of ink in the ash.
I walk alone for a while through a quiet town with roads going uphill both ways. I scavenge a solitary meal without fanfare and without audience.
On my way out, I stop and offer a dollar to a derelict with a grimy guitar. I don't know if he can't see me, or doesn't care; he belts an out-of-tune song about the end of the world. I can respect that kind of reckless pursuit of honesty.
9:08 p.m. - 2016-03-22
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