By the end of my stay in prison, the soreness spread to the rest of my body, which ached from the cramped quarters. I am in prison, and she comes to me. A young human fell in love with me and brought me home, and I have been there ever since. The breeze through the window reminds me of my former life in the asphalt garden. My current food upsets my stomach, and I often through up. I’m growing old now, and my body feels frail. I combat the onset of boredom by looking back at my time on the streets, but I am left distraught and deeper waves of boredom follow. It seems I might die here and never again smell the sweet scents or watch the birds dance.
Night
Max Barbour