coheedcurly

i draw a picture of tomorrow morning: a man in a silver box sells 75 cent coffee and bad bagels. his shirt is the kind of blue no one ever tried to name a crayon after. dust-plastic blue, tried to love you (couldn't) blue. and the morning is that same color, the color of canned lightning-bugs and unfiltered cigarettes and desire, because that is all you draw with couldn't blue. i pay him 1.25 in change and purse-lint so that a fourth-world factory can make more silver boxes to sell more things more stale blueberry muffins. and he will keep gathering change in 75 cent purse-lint increments in the small sinking townships of