By Michael Szapkiw

Honk. Splash. Zoom. Mumble, mumble. Slam. Drip. Honk. “Meow.”

Her name is “Life.” Her muffled cries nearly escaped the catch of my ear trapped behind those boxes and crates just off the 3rd Street alley. In saving her life, she has prolonged mine.

“Meow.” This time, her sound is calmer, quieter, absent of the desperation that drew us together. Still, to smile is a chore my weak grip and drifting legs cannot yet bear.

I walk these scornful streets, bleak as they are, welcoming them. How I long to forget the streets of yesterday with purity lost and no love made. The beasts who roam, devouring the mice, serve a pittance for a soul filling their own soulless temple. “Stay full, you temple, that I may never see you again,” I would silently cry. Enough is never enough.

Meow. I’ll care for you, Life, fragile as you are. Though my body may seek resignation, my mind is resolute. Survival is our path.

Honk. Splash. Zoom. Mumble, mumble. Slam. Drip. Honk. “Roar.”