crumbled bits of paper tumble out of pockets at the end of the work day, after good citizens have stumbled home from traffic and gymnasiums and happy hours and everything they do before they turn off the lights and think about death in the dark.
televisions drown out the worst of it. but even those get turned off.
then, crumbled bits of paper emerge from the bottom of pockets. some of them are receipts. some of them are notes. i pushed the papers open, searching for phone numbers that might have been slipped inside by some anonymous paramour.
i found nothing. i sat in the dark, and i thought about death until the dreams came.