And now it’s November [Anonymous]
and the clothes in my trunk got cold while the drinking party-goers inside got warmer. The rain in New York hasn’t let up, for some it’s the hurricane spinning off its last drops and for others it’s God lamenting for those who need the pity.
The rain tastes like vinegar while my fingers, covered in ink, move slower. My legs run across cracked asphalt sending off stacks of paper littered with news, to 315 and 319, and to 320 and to 327, and to 1935 and to 1921 and to 1917.
But Sean and Marian have un-inked fingers; they may have drowsy eyes from their own knots of discomfort, but from their undisturbed non-virtual backgrounds, I can see they have the math behind them too, not just on a tablet on their desk 4.6 miles away.
Halloween’s scariest part was slamming an incorrect bagel on the deli counter in the morning and stowing an overstuffed backpack in a tiny trunk at night. But november is a day that starts with the sun down and ends with a bright light, brighter than my eyes can tolerate, because I know my worth.