strangers you’ll meet in the city
you’ll find her in the alleyway outside the bar, under the stoop to the club, tucked away in a corner in between dances. She wears jewel colors, iridescent greens.
Smoke from her cigarette obscures her face, sweet smelling and sleepy, but you can see eyes through the smoke; a glittering black. Talk for a little while, listen to her low voice. Offer cab fare (she’ll refuse), offer your coat (she’ll laugh and say no). If she likes you, she’ll press one of her unlit cigarettes into your palm.
As you walk away, you’ll realize that you can’t remember anything she said to you. But hold onto the cigarette, cool and smooth in your pocket. Don’t smoke it; it’s not made for your lungs.
But sometimes you can take it out, smell it, maybe light it in a bowl. You’ll remember the party for a little while.
you’ll find him in bright places, in the parks during summer, pad of paper poised on one knee, jeans covered in paint. he’ll offer to draw you someone for ten dollars. give him twenty.
he’ll ask you if you want a portrait; say no. he’ll nod and begin. as he draws, tell him about your life. where you grew up, the first person you liked. sometimes he’ll ask little questions, like where you want to live one day. answer him honestly, otherwise it will look wrong.
when he’s done, he’ll hand you a drawing of someone you’ve never seen before, but seems familiar, like somebody you met in a dream. thank him twice, maybe tip him more, and walk away. take care of the portrait. frame it if you like.
one day you’ll see the person in the drawing. don’t let them pass you by. talk to them or take their hand or give them something. you’ll get one chance.
you’ll find her in the in-between places; on street corners, in the thin space between buildings, standing by fountains in parks. She wears a black canvas coat & overalls. Her pockets jingle, and her face is covered in a plaid scarf.
Bring her all your spare change (even better if it’s foreign coins). No bills or checks, she’ll only use them as tissues. Give her your coins, and she’ll give you a thumbs up, and she’ll hand you a trinket from one of her left pockets.
it can be a thimble, a bolt, a tiny bell. whatever it is, thank her and walk away without looking back. you won’t see her again for many years, but sometimes you’ll hear the sound of her in the distance. it’s almost like music.
you’ll find him in the sharp places; wandering on the ledges of buildings, standing in the middle of roads, stumbling across bridges. He’ll be wearing a light coat, tan pants. He’s frayed at the edges.
Walk towards him slowly, take his hand (it will be cold), lead him back to the sidewalk. He is as light as a feather. If you have coffee or tea, give it to him. If not, warm his hands with your breath. Slowly, color will return to him. He will try to say things to you, words too quiet to hear, but shake your head. He doesn’t have to thank you.
Once he is warm, pat him on the shoulder and leave him someplace homely, like a library. As you walk away, you’ll notice an envelope tucked into your coat. It’s crumpled, but clean.
Don’t open it now. save it until you are at your lowest, until you cannot bear to think about waking up in the morning. Tear open the envelope, and you’ll find the letter inside. It will tell you everything you need to hear.
baratheonpilled
pixelskylines
areudirty
dededos
vaporwave
jacobvanloon
kianamaiart
