Smeared black ink, your palms are sweaty and I'm barely listening to last demands. I'm staring at the asphalt wondering what's buried underneath where I am. I'll wear my badge. A vinyl sticker with big block letters adherent to my chest that tells your new friends: I am a visitor here I am not permanent. And the only thing keeping me dry is where I am. You seem so out of context in this gaudy apartment complex. A stranger with your door key explaining that i'm just visiting and i am finally seeing why I was the one worth leaving.
