sruoh 4
>> 1:23am
the night watchman paces as another uneventful night unfolds. he stares blankly into the night breathing his future and waiting for the embrace of his cold, clean sheets. he keeps his wits in his holster and his knowledge tucked in his pants under his shirt at the small of his back as he paces unregretfully.
>> 2:47am
leaning with one bent knee on a fencepost and bent memories that should have been, his brown leather vest absorbs the attention of the streetlight broken only twice to light a cigarette. he taps out 'this is the only life i was given to live, and it's the only one worth living' in morse code when he ashes his cigarette on the moist ground. his favorite smell is that of pavement after it rains and his sinuses are at play.
>> 3:19am
he slices his finger with a razor to use the extra band-aid in his wallet. it seemed to be getting in the way. the hair on the back of his neck stands on end as a cool, post-rain breeze floats by. he is reminded of how he fears traffic jams. as if there were some massive evacuation that he was unaware of. his anxiety tripples when the bottleneck is on the other side of the highway. letting out a hefty sigh he clears his mind and moves along.
>> 4:56
searching for a pillow, or even a balled-up jacket, he startles himself awake when his head falls backward. he stores images by closing his eyes and remembering the last thing he saw. this time, its the ambient glow from his cigarette as he takes another drag. he can feel it in his lungs, like sorrow, belonging there, but only causing more damage than it's worth. he has a hard time letting things bother him. his finger starts throbbing because he put the band-aid on too tight. he shakes his head, smiles, and finishes his cigarette.
the night watchman paces as another uneventful night unfolds. he stares blankly into the night breathing his future and waiting for the embrace of his cold, clean sheets. he keeps his wits in his holster and his knowledge tucked in his pants under his shirt at the small of his back as he paces unregretfully.
>> 2:47am
leaning with one bent knee on a fencepost and bent memories that should have been, his brown leather vest absorbs the attention of the streetlight broken only twice to light a cigarette. he taps out 'this is the only life i was given to live, and it's the only one worth living' in morse code when he ashes his cigarette on the moist ground. his favorite smell is that of pavement after it rains and his sinuses are at play.
>> 3:19am
he slices his finger with a razor to use the extra band-aid in his wallet. it seemed to be getting in the way. the hair on the back of his neck stands on end as a cool, post-rain breeze floats by. he is reminded of how he fears traffic jams. as if there were some massive evacuation that he was unaware of. his anxiety tripples when the bottleneck is on the other side of the highway. letting out a hefty sigh he clears his mind and moves along.
>> 4:56
searching for a pillow, or even a balled-up jacket, he startles himself awake when his head falls backward. he stores images by closing his eyes and remembering the last thing he saw. this time, its the ambient glow from his cigarette as he takes another drag. he can feel it in his lungs, like sorrow, belonging there, but only causing more damage than it's worth. he has a hard time letting things bother him. his finger starts throbbing because he put the band-aid on too tight. he shakes his head, smiles, and finishes his cigarette.