Pure Gin

“Faces come out of the rain…. no one remembers your name…”
- The Doors

In the city, I feel like a ghost: I drift from block to block, my feet don’t touch asphalt, I don’t feel the gutter-heat. People brush me as they pass, but feel nothing; their gaze focussed behind me. I watch them, being tugged along by unseen ropes. They laugh and scowl and shout.

In the city, I am alone.