walking down the lonesome street at night,

past derelict houses and neon lights

flashing and dying awat like fading beacons of a forgotten age.

the air contaminated with cotoon-candy, teenybopper music that

shrieks

through the smooth velvet of the night,

sneakers sliding over cracks in the pavement

children playing hopscotch, lines crayoned in chalk. age of...what? fhm magazine pulled out from picnic basket. pandora's box.

sweet stickiness of popcorn and soda wafts through my nostrils,

seeping through my shirt.

I buy a sticky mars bar and a melting ice cream,

with oxidised dimes that lie in the carverns of my pocket,

thinking that perhaps you'd like them,

when I open the door of our

dimly-lit apartment,

and enter your comforting arms.

--By Yue Lin

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