A breeze whisked through the small space under the opened window. Seven floors below, taxis honked and cars rushed down the busy Manhattan avenue; the sounds of a city enjoying the end of late October. A fading sun glazed her tanned skin the kind of color you'd see a star radiate in a 1930s matinee movie, leaving her seeming to be a Egyptian princess stepping into a panoramic set along the Nile. He shivered, partially from the cool pressing against his skin, but more because her outstretched hands, and fingers, were lingering along his waist. Teasing to drift lower. Or dance along the curve of his taut abdomen towards his buttocks. She offered him a Mona Lisa smile--soft, intriguing, almost imperceptible. His hands, strong and rugged, held her at her hips. She knew she wasn't going anywhere. She didn't want to go anywhere. A stray flicker of sunlight make her green eyes sparkle. She moved closer, the heat from her body pushing away any further chill.
It's a lonely walk down Desperation Street. In the shadow of the street lights, flesh pistons move in rhythm, and police sirens flash red and white. Shrug your jacket collar high, and let your hands be ready to get busy, stand tall, keep your eyes darting side to side. Glass shatters around the corner, voices rage then fade away, you never feel more alive then when death greets for your final day. Cigarette embers stare from the darkness, a plume of smoke lingers. Never slow down, never look back.
Made her home a Greyhound seat,
Crossed a state line or maybe three.
No more turning back, she knew.
Live and cry by her childhood schemes.
Stepped out into the stink of the city,
Gazed up where buildings touch the sky.
Left behind foolish hometown loves,
Needed her dreams to reach as high.
Driven by dreams, driven by dreams.
Keep whispering to yourself,
You're driven by dreams.
Threw off her quaint personality,
One of a million ain't so special...
Alfred C. Martino
Updates from everyday life as seen by me