Nishe

I was cleaning and sorting through all my old books and papers when I found this little message. I honestly don't remember writing it let alone thinking it but I'll put it up here for memory's sake.

Death is of no concern. Eternal sleep is easy to learn. Why then, is temporary sleep so hard when temporary friendships are so easy to come by?

Until next time.
xx

Marching Band of Manhattans

He stands tall besides the lamp post with only his silhouette as company. Small, stray ashes fall from the glow of his cigarette as he sucks in, savouring the aphrodisiac that fills his lungs. He looks up and blows the cloud of smoke into the crisp night air. A soft breeze greets him back, licking at the beads of sweat that lie upon his brow. He looks down at the lifeless form and observes the small trickle of blood that flows and forms the puddle of liquid red by his feet. He crouches down to pull out the blade peeking from the wound, then grabs the packet that lies hidden inside the victim's jacket. He pulls out another cigarette from the box and returns the packet back where it came from, then moves down to the trousers and rummages through the pockets to find the lighter.

As he walks away with a newly lit stick protruding from his lips, he turns around and glances back at the corpse.

Cheers mate.

Until then.
xx