His arms hurt and he can't walk. He dreams too much. He's a lost one. He stands around on broken asphalt and cracked sidewalks.
There's an old day lurking somewhere around here and it sings to him in his quiet despairing moments of non-clarity. He's always haunting those places of memories when the kitchen was down on Main Street. The days stretch like glue in his worn out eyes. He's a wonder that man with his writing mind and twitching hands. I can't stop dreaming, he says. He doesn't let himself go that way, too scary and too real.
He knows it's a gift, a friend, an apple go lucky. His heart races and his nose bleeds. It's a rough day to be a hero in the hero's days and nights. Days are flowing by in the ocean of run down time. Take a good look before it all leaves. I take all this fantasy seriously, you know.
Call down in a warm voice. The days will run on the road at all hours and the earth will turn and hold out its secrets. We are here for those rainy days. It's a bigger way up than down to you. Just don't bypass it this time and reach for what's coming. It's time.