Lena breathed in the chilly night air.
It was the hour of the morning when the previous night’s mistakes lingered but hadn’t taken root into full-blown regrets.
She looked up the street.
Then down the street
Then back to me sitting on the stoop, head in hands, fighting off the oncoming hangover.
Among the refuse and ash cans
and the girls hitching up their skirts
down along the walks of Horatio street
are the kids with dirt under their nails
trying to hustle for some mouthfuls
of stale bread from Vinnie’s place
shouting at smartly dressed passerby’s
walking speedily past towards Chelsea
with heads buried in newspapers
Empty streets feel lonely
Even in the yellow lights
Of ever burning street lamps
Casting pale shadows
On late evening wanders
Meandering cracked paths
Leading to locked doors
Shuttered windows dark
No safe harbor in the night
Musing & Creating with T.J.S. Sherman 