by Stefon Napier01 Aug 2013
Summer of '83.
I discovered that we walk gingerly when we are lost.
Eyes grope miles ahead for short journeys.
Our ways fall into streets that curve into further obscurity.
That is to say,
the mailboxes were emptied until even air deserted them and parts of the street were desolate vacuums.
Life is certainly strange.
Bits of it are stale crust.
This is like renting strawberry lollipops or the way our lives cease to have glory till the postman comes.
We have many miscellaneous saviors.