sometimes if its a nice enough day youll see him outside, leaning coolly against that brick. like a low rent james dean, rebelling against a society that has long forgotten him. in his red members only jacket, with his wild tufts slicked back using motor oil and axle grease, the sun strikes him in a manner that gives you a hint as to who he use to be. the big shot- man on campus- loud mouth- tough guy- fuck up. those skills serve him well as he now needs his mouth to hustle those dollars from the unsuspecting public. preying on the tourists and the college students and the scared and the weak- making himself feel by making others feel bad. the sun shines not for you, you twisted from the massive left-behind, it mocks you. as does that brick that holds and braces you from the dirt. the dirt that calls for you, the earth that feels for you, the entirety that sobs for your being.