It's dark, and getting colder.
I take a long draw from my rusty nail and close my eyes. I waft around the sweet leathery smoke. Behind me I can hear some faint sobbing. Its not that far away. I reflect on the many times the world has tested me to the point of tears, but not today.
Off to my left I can still hear the clowns. They are not any quieter, yet somehow not as loud. The honking seems more random than it once was.
I open my eyes and ahead I see a faint beam of light breaking the darkness; a new dawn. I feel a friendly hand on my right shoulder and I remember… Even though I cannot always see them, I am surrounded by frens.
Some have been marching for months. Others have been marching for many years. None of us seem to know exactly where we are, but every last one of us knows where we are going.
I take one last draw before tossing the nub to the ground. Then, as if coordinated by God, I hear a billion footsteps begin marching with me and I know…
Nothing can stop what is coming.
sounds like a cigarette to me . . . I don't smoke but i get the imagery!
What, haven’t you ever been to a herf?! ;)
Slang for a cigar, fren.
Other than a real rusty nail, the only rusty nail I knew of was a mixed drink.
Huh... I looked up cuz I didn't know what a rusty nail was and it's a mixed drink.
Didn't know it's a slang for a cigar but now that you mention it, it makes sense.
Edit: I should have made the connection when you said you tossed the nub to the ground after taking a last draw...
You'd rather smoke that than a rusty trombone.
(It's a drink btw)