cigarillos negros

a fake victorian streetlight loses its purpose below the old firehouse sign scaling the brick. the great fireproof hotel hosted early motion pictures and touring theatrical productions, filling nine hundred seats with big back pocket socialites mingling with the big city. it was a taste of the arrogant air. now, the gray sign hangs rusted and frail, shielding the same colored rain from my head as i wait for the night owl. my canvas feet soak up the puddles that are being splashed their way, and water drips from the middle of my faded blue hood. and to think, i'm standing in front of the only firehouse in town that didn't burn.

the sidewalk bunched with sunken eyed button ups hailing cabs in their crocodile skin shoes, as if proud enough of themselves to still be out at night looking for a certain love. the tearing of the passing cars on the pavement sounded like newspapers being ripped to shreds. headlines of wrongful arrests and football scores scattered the soaking streets. all the while, a young latino smoker rounds the corner of the great fireproof hotel extending a black umbrella, with dark wings spread out protecting the cigarette smoke from certain disintegration. coasting through the air like golden robins, we're tangled. a pair of two worlds that are intense and strange, complete only in our own heads. we watch each other with a sharp, corner eyed stare that leaves the pit of my stomach feeling empty and bare until finally, we both board the bus, silently paying our fare.

i sit down in the first open seat in the aisle, quickly shifting over to the window, almost as an invitation. the discolored fingers of the smoker tap the swinging handle hanging from the other side of the bus, a transparent ring shining in the dull light. if not for the swindled hours of our day, how could our eyes recognize the stillness of a wild love? looking out through the glass, i watch the racing raindrops stream down the reflection of my cheek.

"tenth avenue." (the first words). i flee as the doors open, the rain falling a little harder than before. looking over my shoulder, i catch a dark silhouette of the androgynous smoker, puffing away as if blowing into the face of a solitary love but where do we hold the beloved before they fade?

a new, peculiar loneliness tantalized me on the cold traipse home. dirty water trickles from the gutter, my front porch light left on and i sink my soaking shoes into the welcome mat and consummate the keyhole.