The lit cigarette drooped from his lips.
He said good afternoon but it was still morning.
I read his eyes and they told me he was dismal.
He stared into me.
I stared into him.
There was something he wanted,
but nothing I could give him.
He was scared and down.
Under the thick heavy shade of the mahogany trees.
He sucked a drag and guilt slipped out with the smoke.
He tried to keep his feet aligned in steps along the sidewalk.
He turned on his little boom box and sung a long.
I dug the garden as he passed by.
whatever drug he was using dimming him fully.
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