I put some cash in the hurry box, and found that I had squandered morning with a rush into night. I had not checked, not with velvet blinders slumped over my eyes like coffins. I greeted the doorman with a smile and a tip, and he gestured, showed me to the seat of my fiery ship. I manned the oars until my hands burned and the clouds roiled underneath with oil slick and rage.

Then I let it go.

Bring me to the lies, baby, and sell me the skinny with a thousand cigars packed between your teeth, like hissing icebergs in a darkness that curls away between the dead, parted lips of God. Throw me some hearts and grab me some souls, we'll load pockets until the lint suffocates and the living blood runs down our legs and fills our shoes.

Then I'll let it go.