Sink softly with the night that swallows you.
No, none for me, thanks, I'm Mr. Weiner. And here's a story
of an otherwise distinguished gentleman.

I often wonder how long it takes the heart to find its place. I often consider all my previous mistakes. I'm a jolly good fellow with a belly full of wine! I think people laugh at me when I leave.

If I left, my cat would miss me. My neighbor Al, he doesn't know me. Our empty chats together are a point of pride. We talk about our lawns, sprinklers, street parking, etc. I wouldn't want to cut that routine. We sometimes just exchange greetings in the evenings with our briefcases.

"Greetings, Bill.
Greetings, Bob."

He must have divorced the step-mother of his daughter. She moved out. I think he's on better terms with his first wife; I notice her car more often. Some mornings I sip my coffee and spot another woman doing the walk of shame from his house. He works out. If I looked like him I'd wear a bandanna and a sleeveless shirt and do my sets near the stairmaster. I wonder what he's noticed about me.

He wanted me to go halfsies on a white fence. I'm not going to do it but next time I'll ask him about the materials and hardware stores.

I imagine he might say we can just paint the wood white, and then we can go from there