Wednesday, March 11, 2009

It's early on a Saturday morning
the sun is still wiping the clouds
from its eye before shining boldly.
I'm sitting on my terrace, wrapped
in a blanket, the same spot I've
been all night. I'm finishing
the last cigarette of my last
pack. A night spent with my
favorite city, and the only
conclusion I can come to is
I have no answer. I stand up
and stretch, flicking the butt
in a can by my feet. As I
get dressed, I accept the fact
that I have to just come
to terms that I just can't
have a conscience. That's
why I got into this business
in the first place.
I grab my leather jacket
and pistol, and head out
into the city that's just

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