nibs licks his gray fur in the yellow sun rays
Tom Waits sings a boiling sea
you can match the rhythm of both
to the south going traffic and the rain never came
what if many things could mean many things?
downstairs I clacked in sandals to the lobby
watched an old man drink a sextuple espresso
frowning into his cup
filled my own double shot
what if one thought could be many thoughts?
on the elevator my floor was already pushed
when it stopped I was the only one to get off
I waited to be last but there was only me to go
what if many actions had no consequences?
nibs waited at the door fur darkened
he pushed his head into the hallway
pupils wide looking right
looking left
I nudged his nose back inside with my foot.
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