Untitled.

There is a man pacing
back and forth
mumbling numbers
and dates
of memories unknown
to him.
He watches busses pull up.
Doors open.
Shoes shuffle
off and on.
He looks at them,
sees them.
He is invisible.

A girl stands,
watches a man pace
back and forth.
She wears headphones,
music pulsing in
her ears.
She cannot hear
his mumbles.
Her bus is coming.
She follows the crowd,
takes her place
in line.

The Pacer
steps towards the
edge.
He jumps.
A crash.
A crack.
People are screaming.
A pool of blood begins to
expand,
filling every crease
on the road.

The girl is standing,
Frozen.
Staring.
Her legs will not move.
She feels warm liquid
drip, drip
down her cheek.
Raising her hand to her face
she wipes away
her red tear.
A piece of his flesh
falls from her cheek.

She vomits.