Imagination or Reality

Travis Boatright
Jan 12 · 1 min read

Today I got hit by a car.

I feel pity for my conscience.

Things were going well.

I was reading on the metro.

Three stops from my destination.

The lady asked me to wait before turning the page.

Roots planted, swaying in unison.

They don’t make eye contact.

Seaweed moving in the ocean.

A trumpeter performs the same song.

People walk by the rhythm.

You go up and the sounds fade.

The end of the day it crescendos.

Jazz playing, snow falling.

Cars drive by.

Coffee is cooling off.

The door opens.

The cold air deceives my neck.

I shouldn’t have sat by the window.

A cigarette burns, the snow lands on the ashes.

Sitting on a concrete bench watching people look at the snow like they have never seen it before.

A man walks by and he smirks.

The all-white outfit resembles a hospital gown. Where did he come from?

Another sip to try and stay warm in the snow. The cigarette is almost out.

The exhale of smoke fills the empty cup.

Will there be any more cigarettes?

Travis Boatright

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My writing is like 2% milk.