This is like an online notebook, this stuff is not finished or often even started properly.

Bootpolish

We were trading boot polish on the curb
I say the curb it was the edge of something
A train platform
or a roof
he ground his teeth and I could hear grains of enamel
I lent in and tried to catch his eye
his air was warm with booze
and he snorted like a bull
again my shin stung
so I let him have my toe
twisted so that my knee hit him in the thigh as well
he moaned and bent for a moment
he answered
laying both hand on my shoulders and really swinging
I felt the blood running down my shin
the tram arrived
so I freed myself
and said good bye
who is this man?
who first corned me on rigaer st in the frost and tried to kiss me
and now gave me a scab
I watch him through the window
as he tried to recover a beer from the floor  but stumbles and falls.

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