(STREETLIGHTS BUZZED LIKE BAD CONNECTIONS.
THEIR SHADOW MOVED SLIGHTLY AHEAD—LIKE IT WAS DONE WAITING.)
Boots cracked at the sole, stitched with old playlists. Sunglasses on at night not for the light, but to hide what they stopped searching for. They smelled like old perfume yesterday’s sarcasm. Their wrists jingled with thrifted rebellion. The hoodie wasn't theirs, but it fit