As birds fall from the sky, and things fall apart in my hands, the light of temptation caresses my weary bones. In my electric skull, divine intervention is still a thing even though I should know better. In her mirror, she sees beauty, and yet a pretty face is neither here nor there. They want her body, but no one wants her heart. They use her up in fantasy, but in the cold light of day, her hopes and fears are as useless as her dreams. As a dog runs into the road and is clipped by a speeding taxi, I stand sheltering from the rain beneath an underpass trying to decipher the crude graffiti scrawled on its walls. Not far away is the Chinese we would order from, but not the Chinese I mentioned the other day. That belongs to another time and place, whereas this one is still with me. It’s not the best, however. Ordering a battered sausage while I was dating D, it was spat out in disgust for its foul taste. In anger, I proclaimed that eating it was like chewing a testicle. Asking me how I would know, I shook my head and threw the meal away along with hers. She complained, but it was the principle of the matter. Cigarette burning, people tend to the struck dog while I’m lost in thought. Crows, sometimes magpies. They squawk and hiss at me from the shadow of a tree where years ago a group of teenagers hung the cat of their hated English teacher. The teacher died soon after, and the teenagers were never charged. Drunkenly stumbling home from a night out around the same time, I keyed the car of one of the boys responsible. Such acts are hardly worth repeating, but the cat deserved better. We are made to suffer; that much is clear to me. Salvation would be nice, but it’s a rarity I’m not holding out on. Soaked to the bone upon venturing into the open, there’s nowhere to go but round in circles in an attempt to kill time. While I’m treading the same old ground, she’s on her bed dreaming of a man to rescue her from such obscurity. I am not that man, for I can’t even rescue myself.