“The moon is a friend for the lonesome to talk to.” – Carl Sandburg
“I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape—the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it; the whole story doesn’t show.” – Andrew Wyeth
Cold wind blows in the
dark night, as trash cans tumble
in a lonely street
Here’s a piece of flash fiction I wrote a couple of years ago that, I suppose, is semi-autobiographical. It’s about loneliness and the yearning for human connection.
She glowed in the sticky street,
cigarette hanging from ruby-red lips.
I wandered among musicians, drunks,
strip clubs and bachelorettes in sparkled masks.