Hooking

I’ve known the streets: Places where the night lingers and the echoes of passing cars feel distant.

My feet have grown accustomed to the dim-lit alleys.

I walked past shuttered windows when the city slept, listening for the familiar footsteps that come and go.

I leaned against the brick walls, my breath clouding in the cold air, and I whispered in low tones, watching headlights sweep across the pavement, and I felt the city thrum with unseen stories.

I’ve known the streets: Quiet, restless streets.

My feet have grown accustomed to the dim-lit alleys.

I’ve lain stretched out, my body bare to the night, where beauty and sorrow mingled in my broken bones.

I’ve forsaken my soul for a walking dead man’s pleasure, trading dignity for a moment’s release.

I wanted to retire, live on the beach in Miami, listen to the waves crash on the shore.

But another car has stopped at the curb, and I must wear that smile that pulls at a lonely man’s groin.