By: Andrew Glikin-Gusinsky
Sometimes in winter afternoons, after your cup of coffee, you turn south,
Meandering downward along the main artery of town, sucking on an empty cigarette holder.
Passing Starbucks after Starbucks,
They are the sign-posts which mark the versts of the torpid journey you make towards your own personal Elbe.
You know, however, that there will be no Joe waiting for you, to offer you a Lucky Strike and a Hershey Bar.
You turn around to stare at it knowing that they will never let you cross to the other shore,
So you lean against the railing and watch the gray horizon and the ferries that go back and forth.
When night falls, you catch the One back to your bed on the hill, knowing that you cannot go home.
