You walk down the unnoticeable incline into the city. You look to the skies where the weather systems rehearse a performance they will give you
next time. You see the bowl of the heavens reflect the skull’s roundness – and all car sounds in its persistence. You love this. It is, you think, the mark of a walk’s greatness to array contingency in its random archways. You sigh. And walk on through the headache as the white grey blues yellow