Fascinated with facets of alleyways'

Crows circled the coming winds of Fall, hypnotizing me. A turn of the century cart bundled with dirty rags clattered down the street, cued by a depressed novelist’s words. Childhood friends skittered in and out of mouse holes, snatching curbside crumbs from passerbys, dodging skittering feet and objects like fencing instructors, making a polished point against chaos. The virtuosity of all the things I couldn’t do correctly welled, and presented themselves in dirty puddles reflecting the skies changing states seconds’ tick unwound. The phone rang for the fifteenth time that day, adding to too many messages to comprehend; wouldn’t it be nice to pass out in a heap of garbage, like this man? Drunkenness masks the small defeats and rankness of life’s weights. I stand before him, as he snores soundly.