© 1997 C.E. by L. Hernandez

Damp streets fill my mind with thoughts of solitude
A drunk old waste asks me for a quarter
as he stumbles out of his sheltered corner
And into the never ending drizzle
I look at him in disgust as he holds out a scabby arm,
waiting for his palm to be filled
“No.” I tell him as I proceed to walk away, nauseous
from the smell of his dirty, soiled flesh
“Wait!” he pleads, “Just a quarter…or a cigarette!”
He begs annoyingly with the whine of a horny teenaged boy
begging for sex from a girl he could almost have just had
He grabs my arm as if to force me to give a shit
I run cold, sharp steel through his throat
to stop his whining
And all goes red as the damp streets fill my mind…
With thoughts of solitude