There stands the neighborhood.

I walk,
pace,
and search.

styrofoam cups
caked in spoilt dairy.

but rather,
Bacardi rolls
in the key
of E minor.

you appreciate no sadness
while I anticipate
a respectable shunning.

gates of steel
and shutters bright green.

structural integrity.

your dream,
in one square mile.

so indulge me,
in stories without a plot.

tell me,
where I’d fit in.

*Cat No. 21 of the 500 Cats Project