obscenities
hats. trilby hats. sailor's caps. top hats. hats of bygone eras. they all line his mirror as if waiting in attendance for attention long lost.
my brain is at a precarious tilt and i can't think. what have i done?
an old woman came walking down a barely lit juncture in a park long abandoned. as she wonders without intention, she chances upon an old stroller, rust eating away at the metallic handlebar. looking inside, the old woman can only discern bricks puncturing the stroller's soft innards.