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on the roof
Jun. 19th, 2004 11:13 amIt's quiet. And hot. The power went around noon and it still hasn't come back. The night is warm and humid but as Clay pushes the bag onto the roof and hefts himself after he can see that he was right. No light means that you can see the stars. He's missed them.
He used to pretend they were his friends. He'd talk to them inside his head and they'd listen.
The stars are distant. And indifferent. But they are still beautiful. He gets settled, pulls out a beer from the the bag and rolls a cigarette.
He's a bit achy from having been at work, his mind is full of plans for the kennel David asked him to make, he's got a beer and a smoke and the stars.
The air smells like gasoline and rotten thrash, he can hear car horns honking. And he is alone.
It'll do,
He used to pretend they were his friends. He'd talk to them inside his head and they'd listen.
The stars are distant. And indifferent. But they are still beautiful. He gets settled, pulls out a beer from the the bag and rolls a cigarette.
He's a bit achy from having been at work, his mind is full of plans for the kennel David asked him to make, he's got a beer and a smoke and the stars.
The air smells like gasoline and rotten thrash, he can hear car horns honking. And he is alone.
It'll do,