Tonight, on the Eve of our New School Year

I opened my own big mouth and let out, what if no one else, I, at least, thought sounded like the eternal silent gasp of final satiated discontent. To anyone else listening, however, it sounded more like the yawn of another man watching the clock for sleep. But no one else was listening and regardless, I was the one trying to quit smoking here, so forget the rest of them. May they find peace in happiness.

Tomorrow morning sounded like a time not nearly far enough away from the one where I found myself, drowning, heavy, happy to hold on to even the most desperate attempt at hope. A single light gradated the stoic intensity of sepia white off into metallic rusts, burnt siennas and the eventual disappearing deep black of the farthest corners of a nearly midnight living room set in motion to shut down for the night, its family retiring to higher ground and the first floor of this bricky townhouse destined for hibernation, at least until the sound of a school day morning alarm turns gooey in the eye and corn flakes fall into bike rides off to destinations separate enough from each and one another to put us into our own worlds for the day. 3:30 would surely show its face again and a mother would hear her family coming home. A son would clamor rolling over the bustle of his day’s treasures, books, bags and the far more interesting. Shoes would fly, talk of food would be thrown over every syllable’s shoulder and standard questions of “how was your day?’ belay marvelous tales canting answers of profound acknowledgment of the simplicity of enjoying life.

Or so I thought to myself here, fifteen and some minutes later, still anticipating the need for nicotine, the need for an absence of nicotine, and the grim realization of which would prove more or less likely.

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