Room: 215

“ROOM 215” ash outlines, the bodies of cigarettes. dry grass is a pillow for the homeless. street lamps, air conditioners with guards, the paramedic waiting for the green light, digital advertising, bump moans from neighbors in connecting rooms, sprinklers watch me from above, cars race the freeway like doves out of Hell, the moon is at the bar inside this city. the world's finest paid $50 to drink, smoke, cough, weep and bump in private. dollar dispenser lives rent on three floors. the roadrunner stays. I dodge rain drops from the mouth above me. city life at $50, $49.99 would've sold me. tomorrow morning's coffee will be cold. By: Chicano Eddie 10-14-2016