maybe missing things is bad or a
sort of confession
to not smelling new bread baking around the corner, but
i miss telephone booths
and letters with stamps,
but there are still tobacco vice specialization shops;
cigarettes, lottery, candy, magazines.
i stand in line with all ages;
old man and his lottery book
two teenagers with skateboards being loud.
i plop a baseball preview on the counter and
same one for 7 montreal years,
says, “baseball…good for you.”
i half smile sort of shyly,
probably from his sincerity.
it’s been a long time since anyone really spoke to me.