Down and Out on the Avenue

Seven scotch-and-sodas later and the broadcast in my head blurs counterproductively. I go myopic. I go downward dog on the avenue. I go home. The bus goes south and so does the temperature. The busdriver smiles wide. His lips part like horizontal curtains and his teeth are the morning sun. The dust-burned journey trends onward down and down, lower and lower.

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One response to “Down and Out on the Avenue

  1. I laughed out loud at “I go downward dog on the avenue” and people looked at me. This is a beautiful piece. Keep writing!

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