Waiting for an Interview

So... Here I am in sweltering Brooklyn, half an hour early (whose idea was this?) with no refuge from the sun. I can't be early and I can't be late.

And sleep still weighs on my eyelids... I wonder if it will pass. Or maybe it's the food. (Fucking sun!)

Crouching in this sliver of shade, forehead beaded and cheeks are clammed and cold. Leaves are heavy and made of paper... coated with the paint of old buildings, matching the baking water bottle beside me. (Rustle!) (Relief!) And sweetness is always fleeing.

(Never again.. .Never again.)

To hide, to hide, to hide in my closet-- his loft-- my cave-- his lie-- my heart.