blood-red-ribbons

most people don't know that i live under a bridge or that my favorite color is the slick brown of her hair. i am not an urchin, a menace. i am simply a man without a home. that's it. your god does not love me like he loves you. the best nights are those that let me lull to sleep with rain in my head. she used to let me sleep in her house. she'd tiptoe me in and i'd sleep in her closet so her parents wouldn't see. sometimes they'd remark that she should "really clean your room, it smells like something died" and she'd smile and say okay. i promise i'm not dead. or a pervert, if you're asking. that little girl was my best friend.

"It's him!" "Is it?" "He's watching you." "No he's not." "He is." She's sipping her rum and coke on a stool at the bar. She's not drunk yet, but she's on the edge. That place just past tipsy where your logic starts to slip. Her friend rolls her eyes, picking the cherry out of her drink and pulling it off the stem with her teeth. "How can you be so blind?" She asks, playfully mocking. "Can you just drop it? This is supposed to be a girls night." "It's supposed to be a picking up guys night." "Since when?" The music is pounding against her eardrums, and the lights are that colored kind that strobe to the beats thundering through su