loose everything.

long, greasy hair. black angel hair noodles pressed behind his ears with his strong left hand. and tan skin weathered by the sun. loose everything. his frame was too thin and fragile for his adult clothes. but the cigarette in his right hand was an adult decision. fueled by addiction or recreation or boredom, i'm not sure. but he smoked like it was the only thing he'd spend his money on. he smoked like it was the first and the last thing on his agenda. he smoked like he was whispering secrets to an old friend. and passing a fellow smoker (but complete stranger) in front of a 711, he was wished a happy fourth of july. the stranger proceeded to his car with much more than smoking to accomplish. happy fourth of july. happy fourth of july. the statement of goodwill stopped him - his gait faltered and his cigarette balanced between two fingers three inches from his mouth. shit, it's the fourth already? whatever appearances he was maintaining before (we all maintain some sort of appearances, yes? usually appearances that justify our importance.), he forgot them. he was revealed for the disconnected member of society he was. a transient, an outsider with no plans for the holiday. with no idea that the holiday was, in fact, that day. immediately it became apparent that he was not attached to any community that would recognize this holiday. no job. no church. no school. his pace continued more fractured then before. in figure eights he muttered to himself this is why i don't celebrate... black shirt against the terra cotta wall he cursed the government and business never... nicotine easing his anger, he gained his composure and left.