A Rolling Stone song from around 1970 or so, a discarded hat on the floor and a man dressed in black smoking a Marlboro and staring into space.

Wednesday morning at 8 o’clock…jumping up and getting out of bed… pulling up your pants they sag, you tighten your belt, still falling how tight can you make it before it starts to cause you to swell up in pain?

She was a Young American, she loved to take smiling selfies and post them while in her heart she was dying. Swimming in the violent waters searching for a buoy or some sign of home.

Old Man looks and spies himself in the sounds and echoes of a TV show. As tears form he realizes he needs to change and changing again can be extremely daunting to a man of change.

What if? Brushes that thought off just like he does a piece of lint on his lapel. It takes 2 or 3 tries.

He sees her and he knows he wants to sing and embrace her, hum a tune or tune and feel her skin upon his lips, her lips upon his skin.

It’s not always going to be this crazy… all things must pass…

Just another day for this working class zero, the coffee helps and smiling can be a tonic.

Yellow brick roads have been exited and the footprints in the mud only add to the sense of being lost and yearning for a second chance to listen to the old man. But no one and nothing can hold you forever, you know that’s the truth.

Young lady, holding her young daughter’s hand and staring into space. What ifs cloud her vision and she loses all her sense of life only looking for the next chance to numb her senses and to forget.

There ain’t no forgetting, ain’t no escape, ain’t no true freedom if you live in the past.

Free as a bird, you cannot chain or change, whatever the lyric.

Wednesday morning at 804, been watching the Mona Lisa’s and Black hatters on this subway where no good man should go down.

Place a flower in your pocket and place it in the charity box, sometimes charity can be more than only money.