“If I saw you on the street a year later, walking First towards Houston, wearing distressed denim and a white t-shirt, would I say hey, stranger, long time, no talk (things good, how’s the family, have you decided what your life’s about, do you let the thought rest or do you bite your tongue about the aftertaste, in your back pocket is there ink leaking from a fountain pen, still trying to see through to the other side of the stained glass, reading anything terrible, believe yet in boring, how’s the library forming, have you chosen a favorite), or would I face the concrete, hope to not be seen by you, look towards my bare shoulder without the words and catch the light, only to look back?”
Summer would have only one regret, however right or wrong.