beauty, midnight, vision dies, mr. auden said. but i want to remember this.
here in this city, in this neighborhood, on this street. where all the houses from the outside look the same. and sometimes, so are the people. i hope i can remember this.
the strange man's bed room.
sunlight unsplintered by any blinds. a comics of a justice-upholding green faced man turned facedown on the sill. the cloying smell of fabric softener from an unopened bag of freshly washed clothes.
a reggaeton track nostalgic of the island life in puerto rico blaring from the apartment across the hallway. a half empty 2-liter diet pepsi bottle on the floor, its top part puckered.
the strange man's bunch of keys silent on the side table. beside it, my wallet containing my set of three.
and the unforgiving mirror just across the bed reflecting the emptiness of the late summer sky.
