not just an address.
Snapshot of a life worth living:
Walking home from the bus, past an open air market with fresh produce, hand-made jewelry, and used books. I'm going past a small boy sitting on the sidewalk with his figurines and blocks, his blonde head tilting up to me with curiousity. We share a crooked, mischievous smile, and I continue down the block, the sound of talking and buying, late afternoon noises in my ears. See me, turning the corner into my local packie and grabbing a six pack of beer. I chat with the owner, the guy behind the counter, who is the only person I have ever seen working there. Up a tree-lined lane, around the corner, across from the little league team practicing on the tiny ballfied, and there-- there is home.
Crack open a beer and take a seat with me, my friend. Let's stay a while.
Walking home from the bus, past an open air market with fresh produce, hand-made jewelry, and used books. I'm going past a small boy sitting on the sidewalk with his figurines and blocks, his blonde head tilting up to me with curiousity. We share a crooked, mischievous smile, and I continue down the block, the sound of talking and buying, late afternoon noises in my ears. See me, turning the corner into my local packie and grabbing a six pack of beer. I chat with the owner, the guy behind the counter, who is the only person I have ever seen working there. Up a tree-lined lane, around the corner, across from the little league team practicing on the tiny ballfied, and there-- there is home.
Crack open a beer and take a seat with me, my friend. Let's stay a while.