The cranes had lights in them. They spun from their hanging place on the lantern, guided by the slightest of breezes, to twirl brightly and haunt the darkness with their gentle light.
It looked like they were flying.
They’d been here forever and he’d scarcely ever notice them now. He’d glance at them, once in while, acknowledging their soft and warning presence. He saw how they caught the wind and made it visible even to him, who couldn’t really see them anyways.
But then he’d dismiss them again, but only because they’d been there forever.
He had other things to worry about. Like the wad of bills lying at his feet.
He had, in total, three hundred and eighty-nine dollars, fifty cents. The bills looked obscenely bright under the warm light of his porch, pressed down by his seeking, desperate fingers on to the mouldy gray-green of the floor beneath him.
His figure was barely recognizable where it crouched, his entire body curled into itself, a position of universal self preservation. Darkened clothing whispering over tanned, but goosebumped skin.
It was as much the exhiliration, the anxiety, as the cold.
It was late summer…. Nothing was warm anymore.
Not the ocean, not the sun, not the smiles of the girls who’d roll over sand, naked, with him, once or twice, before disappearing into the past to make way for a new conquest.
All he had now, though, were his bills. Four fifties, ten twenties, three tens, one five, two toonies. A quarter and twenty five cents worth in pennies. Numbers that meant little to nothing in word, a much to everything when in hand.
All else he may have had left were stamps, an old, chewed up pen, dry and unusable, a roll of weed, which he wasn’t likely to touch – ever again – and a couple of red dice.
I wasn't sure what else to write... but I'm hoping that you will!
It's an atempt anyway..)
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