I was trying to force letters to words but they kept slipping, I would find myself halfway down a page sifting sentences between my eyes thinking somewhere far off drifting. Standing there waiting for the elevator taking in the boxed pastel angles and chrome I glanced over and caught her quickly stop looking. Silently wondering if she caught me moments earlier. And hours later inside under bright lights and scattered tables, pushing lines into letters and forcing shapes to will, there were portions of lives passing by that I unfold stored inside for later. The girl alone wait glancing each time the door creaked, the preacher done with his rendezvous attempt conversion scans and descends, the self concious boy repeats his same words to changing faces. And then that dry cold wind and lonely lights filtering through branches on the way home, just letting everything settle into all those little places.