Windows fog from heavy breathing

street lamps suspiciously burn out

uncontrolled temper rises

on fabricated seats.

This is a parking lot.

Locked inside a four wheeled box

locked inside our minds.

Cigarette smoke,

clouds more than judgment.

This is a car.

Silhouettes inside the glass

scream at one another.

Empty cars notice,

parking space 32 is taken.

Over there is another isolated car.

Footsteps onto open pavement.

A world outside the box.

Tensions disperse,

and strangers stare to pry.

That man pretends not to look.

A breath of air,

in a space of business.

Privacy becomes public.

The ambiance is unsettling.

That child is staring

Cracked sidewalks

or a broken soul?

The walk of shame or

the walk of fault?

I took ballet lessons across this street.

People passing, bumping shoulders

Footsteps follow behind.

Running, raging, roaring

Intense bass coming from the pounding speakers.

That was my first job in high school.

Nauseating smells of popcorn,

chewed gum on the ground.

Blink fast four times.

Hands gripped on shoulders--

How did I get here?