An old guitar with rusty strings and splintered wood.
An old barn, with a single spotlight staring into your soul.
A mangy dog gnawing on a human hand.
The sound of the wind, as great hulking trashcans bound across the street.
The moon, pale and orange, barely hanging onto the sky.
A broken promise, delivered by a broken man.
A smarmy bumper sticker, lying at the bottom of a dirty pond.
The glowing haze of a forest fire, poking its way between the smoky trees.
Spaghetti noodles straddling a storm drain.
A lone streetlight dimly flickering.
A blood-stained trailer with a broken axle.
A children’s toy in a dumpster, excitedly exclaiming, “Hug me!”
The feeling of knowing exactly who you are, and then it disappearing one hour later.
A muddy trail lined with debris.
A cake celebrating your birthday, in a flavor you can’t stand.
A beloved hot dog stand, boarded up and gone forever.
An old man in the park, feeding tacos to the ducks.
A small child, kicked in the face by a break dancer.
A man, a plan, a kind of man-made river planned.
A fashionable brooch of solid green.
A certification of your completion of the seventh grade, dated 79 years before you were born.
An unread book on your shelf that speaks to you perfectly at the moment you finally pick it up.
Losing your voice, and then finding it again.
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