They’re staring at the brick warehouse where young artists paint murals on the red brick. There is no rave tonight, no low murmur of drum beats coming from the window. They stare at the “unfinished furniture” sign staring back at them. Four years smoking on this front step – having a staring contest, just me and the warehouse.
They run along Sinatra drive hugging the Hudson. Again, what’s with the starring contest Empire State Building? You’ll always be taller. And you can see farther. I’m just running along, taking it all in, trying not to get stepped on.
They walk down Washington Street one last time. Thinking about the places where the food consumed the person more than the person it. Then what about all the others? Always “saving” them for another day, another special something, but it seems it was saved for nothing.
They straddle their green bike and ring that grey bell. No-one moves out-of-the-way but they keep going, up the hills that make up this small town. They stop to read a book on a bench, pet a pup, and listen to the ice-cream man’s music fade out.
They take a walk to the back streets. Yea, the back-back streets where just the locals goes. Or at least they used to before everyone found out about the best damn bar in this town. These two eyes saw them coming, and sure as heck didn’t like what they saw. But they went anyway, said hi to an old friend, took a sip of an accomplice, and didn’t look back.
They’re going places now. They will see things they never imagined they could see. They’re wide eyed from the excitement and shut tight with the fear. They’ll be back shortly though to tell you all about it!