The fall wind stripping the branches

Woken up at 7:30 by jackhammers outside my window tearing up the sidewalk as if all the construction workers’ curses that were packed and layered into the cement when first built are being released in one explosion. Buildings falling and rising, all the little angels homeless now. On the trees outside the leaves, like raging drunks, glow red and can’t even fall to the ground in a straight line. The wall of the building is a mass of chameleons, all unseen–but on the move. Broken up by hoarse laughter, this piece will actually reach a respectable length. To try to live by your own principles is to be falling forwards against a stiff wind.

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