The calm fit him poorly, like a rented suit. He didn’t quite know what to do with it. Cigarette smoke was only a haunting and hungry memory.
It was hard to parse how he got here: a frenetic, disjointed path.
It was forest walkways and sunshine. Cigarettes hid, ziploc bags in the vent.
Today, calcium phosphate, cut into dust, formed a terrible paste with blood. Screams could not be heeded.
It was following pretty girls through aqua vitae lakes; it was needs unexpressed and festered.
The knife snapped reflexively into his fist. He walked ahead ready to kill. He stalked forward seeking the truth. Only blood and time stood between him and discovery.
Cracked asphalt blurred ahead of a running child. A dull yellow car sped away with all his hope.
He stared at the water, at the whitewashed sky. He hated. He twisted inward. He cast his pain into the heavy air.
The calm fit him poorly; perhaps this was useful.