there is a mountain under my house, a slanted rooftop to sit on outside my bedroom window. a beautiful view i can stare at. there is a tunnel under my mountain. there are windy paved curves i follow to the bottom of my mountain and when i am at the bottom, i turn by the tracks and am at my walking street. on my walking street, there are people. bars. shops. music. there is traffic. on my street, there is comfort.

today it snowed on my mountain and rained at the bottom. i stayed at the top until it was all over. now i am at the bottom. on my street. in my coffee shop. this is my town. this is my vacation wonderland. this is my blue collar breath of silence and i should probably inhale really deep this silence.

everyone could be my baby tomorrow. anyone could be my lover. i'm at my table where my computer is and there is my mug of coffee. yeah. anyone could bring me my baby tonight. should i look or should i hide?

with all of this uncertainty, i will surely keep myself unoccupied and sustainably fresh.

i'm through with the first impressions. i'm an ungodly sight and bereft at best. i'm a beast. poppy beats i nod my head. let the cigarette linger and bounce- allow the smoke to dance. there's this constant feeling that i don't need anymore. no i don't need. this is the happiest of the quietness i have ever lived.

dirty hair smokes hand rolled or is that just an unfilter?

if i'm biting my nails, i'm just pretending. no nervousness. no callousness. no perversness. no uncontrolability. this is very very addictive. i am very contagious. he bops his head and his smoke lingers in his lips.

aha!

the mountaineers. yum.

i sorta feel like i'm in love.

i'm sorta in love with everything i don't know that i'm loving.