pnuemonia

the december air was always crisp, like when you bite into a fresh gala apple. sometimes i even hear it crunch.

or maybe it's the dead leaves under my shoes.

either way, the air was very december-like, which is fortunate because it's really november.

perhaps winter will end early this year.

i was walking to the train station to pick up something short of a dream and yesterday's newspaper from the trash when i saw your photograph in the obituaries.

i cried a little bit and then wondered why i bothered to look in the obituary anyway. a payphone rang and i decided to answer it. i talked to god for a few minutes as the snow seeped through my canvas shoes.