Rendezvous
13 April 09 : 01.38 AM
There is a train track that Helme and I walk across to go home at night, sometimes. There is always a stench; stale air and sleeping grass. Rocks that stagger under your feet. Barely illuminated. We talk a lot there, walking. I used to be afraid of this place. I would clutch his arm and he would hardly notice. I miss it now, somehow.