nautideux

I remember last year I just had on my hoodie and no gloves. Somebody had swiped my Carhart the week before, and my gloves were in the pocket. Boy, honestly, I was cold. Only a crazy bastard would have stood there. But I had to stand there to feel the goodbye to the youngness of the place, as though I were an old man. The grim, filthy little park was down below and I was standing there to feel the goodbye. I stood there--boy, I was freezing to death--but I kept saying goodbye to myself. Over and over. Like, "Goodbye. Goodbye, you crazy bastard." Over and Over and over. "Goodbye." I kept seeing myself, with Frank and Eng, just before it got dark, on September evenings, and I knew I'd never be around ever again with the same guys at the same time. It was as though Frank and Eng and I had done something that had died and been buried, and only I knew about it, and no one was at the funeral but me. So I stood there, freezing.