Now & Then

Now and then is the only thing illuminating my apartment tonight. The movie not the passage of time. Though there might not be a difference. Did you hear they turned the bookstore in the center of town into a Banana Republic? Every hardback, every shelf, every handmade wooden case stacked sky high, Gutted. Sold donated recycled disposed. Less pages to turn, more mannequins dressed in pencil skirts. Silhouettes that take you from the office to happy hour. I keep walking. Today ten blocks feels like a pilgrimage. I move south east chasing the sun like maybe some exposure would be nice. It’s too much sweat before a hue change though. It’s four familiar wheels hitting the pavement, cutting the ambient noise into equal parts. Kick push kick push. It’s effort to avert my eyes. You can form a new habit in 30 days but please don’t tell me to drink more water.