On a stale summer evening, balancing on a single rail, I light a cigarette and let my eyes water over filthy cheeks as the smoke washes over me. I feel the dirt when I smile, and I feel the tears dancing through the grime when I cry, so I do neither. Kicking through the litter and detritus, I listen for the sharp warning blasts from the freight trains that steam and rumble past dragging waggons full of sulphur, or rattling past carrying nothing but dead air and waste.
I dream of climbing the trees I sometimes see on torn billboards, and on the faded juice bottle labels. Sometimes I’ll steal a fresh one from Frankie’s Shop – I go in with a piece of glass melted into a toothbrush handle and threaten his one remaining eye. The poor old bastard just nods and holds up money as I go for…
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