The imaginary audience for my life is growing small and silent.
Electricity, water, gas, and steam course through the walls of my building, keeping it alive.
Your love for me is founded in a sentiment. My love for you is founded in the body. A precarious interchange.
Pity drowns in numbers.
Young girls giggle with nervous delight at the erections they inspire.
Nostalgia paints a smile on the stony face of the past.