Bring on the Fall

Dug this up in an old notebook, still kinda dig it.
----

She works at the bank. I go inside because I can't hear her over the vacuums-- and the bullet proof glass doesn't flatter either of us. She talks about growing up on the prairie, that holy land untouched by shock collars, and I try hard to imprint the image in my mind of the two of us dancing with her naked butterflies in a field of wheat, cigarettes dangling from our mouths.

Personally, I get into the end of the world, and say what you want, but the suspense is the only thing keeping me alive. But who wants to admit that to a potential whatever thingy? Why spoil that summer feeling she so beautifully floats across the cool marble counter like a balloon through a broken window? With every expression I try to clear the window's frame of its remaining shards. I don't want to forsake this moment and step out into the street...

She gives me my receipt and smiles.
Bring on the Fall.