The smoker across the way
paces in intervals preferring illumination,
cringing from cover as if it might hide him.
Across the chain-length fence
a recognition of habit, of addiction, of pure pleasure--
of voluntary banishment
no matter the weather
it is what it is--unspoken and agreed upon by an
imperceptible nod
we are sharing a suicide pact...we both know it.
we are not young and cool with leather jackets and snarls or loud engines
it is witnessed by crickets and notarized by stars that belong to no one.
distant, but still aflame.
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