147,1

sun's gone down in highways junctions bottom, car radio still on to survive to the spring birds migration and human beings that stand with you in a path to follow only after seven in the evening, large elevated sections suspended hundreds of meters above the barren valley due to the spilled and the burnt oil after some leaks, the exterior lights of an abandoned theatre left without electricity by an amount of time with no name and no form - out of the diner, cars with oversized tires welcome to nighthawks and that girl sitting at that white table and holding a sepia tone newspaper, seems to tell everyone I saw the world, looking at page after page till the ads, not the lonely hearts ones, but job offers; she would have wanted to bring a red pen to circle phone numbers but she did not and she won’t do anything of this then she shakes the paper and takes another long sip of coffee and orders a vanilla milkshake. She gazes out the window and sees me walking outside.