Lawrence train station and the empty sky and the red lights of a cocktail bar and the huge tower of an empty theater, There are lights in those windows over there, and this is the most desolate station in the world but If I lived here, I'd be home already.
My friend's couch, frayed and dusty under my fingers, warming up from the way the wind sucks the kindness out of you, and later in her bedroom where she takes approving stock of my bare torso and grins wickedly, and afterwards she talks about leaving the city.
Apartment with the brick walls, before we crack tomorrow's donuts down the middle and dunk them into each other's coffee. Thinking about the cell tower out the window with that single blinking red eye at the top. About what it was going to be like to watch that light blink on and off, slow midnight snowflakes, although this was the first night and long before things actually went to shit.
Maybe seeing something in the way that the snow spiraled out in the lights of the enormous double-decker cake of a train which will stick in my mind. Trying to live in the moment, heading far outside of this puddle of light and sitting down on somebody else's couch and trying to fall in love again.
My uncle at a funeral, talking about how I bring back stories of my adventures in the Big City, and he doesn't understand that there's no city out here at all.