pixel rust

days gone by

I remember hearing the voices all night,
the rumbling of city buses a back drop of sound
all spanish hostility
and small plastic bags
shouts and gunfire
running sneakers

waking to the smell of burning futons
two junkies below
glad that it is in the alley, not the hallway
as the windows rattle in the wind
and snow blows in around the frame

We would laugh and stick beer bottle caps into the frost
open the oven door and put a pot of boiling water on the stove
crack a beer and live another day

back when death was a daily option
failure was the norm
and we were to young to take notice
living in dreams to real to care