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fish face foot
His flock of kin I gather he might’ve sheparded just like how it happened with me, I met the following day when they came from deeper outside the perimeter of their familiarity. We were sitting on a little ledge where fancy plants and small trees could grow and show a bit of bloom to anyone who passes along on the sidewalks. I was cross-legged on the ground, aback against the building as it were whose cobble wall held my spine straight, watching Michael (we’ll call him Michael) and a few other local bums discussing nothing of any real weight or value, at least none that I can summon to recall, over a bit of smoke, mostly mumbling incoherent and yet me still sitting there incredibly intrigued, due to the scene of these dreary, star-hearted zombies, like a trance within a trance.
One of the bums gestured me respectably, seeing that my humility was perhaps a bit strict, even for a kid, or that I was not a part of some silly audience to their culture, being in the same place at the same time, that we must cherish equality within every specimen. So, he patted the bit of chiseled stone-surface beside him with those same sorrowed stars sparkling in his empathetic eyes, shadow overhead casting secrets pronounced that dissipate like a magician of ether.
