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A recorded reading of “Fog for a Counter”. If the player does not load, use the original audio source.
Fog for a Counter (B-Roll Time, No Ledger) Bus nine. Low rain. We mouth an advert. Wrong stop; we swap the arrows and grin. A pigeon lifts a chip. The street rewinds softly. For weeks I text first. Weather ticks your glass. Two-oh-nine—your call. I lace and run. We split the night in halves and shut the book of measures. Aisle light. Mop and bin. Swing-top lids debate. Laundry is small weather. A warm shirt flags the rail. Boredom, shared, turns coin-bright in the palm. Maps spin. Batteries red. We follow the smell of bread, miss the show, make a bench the scene, tea ghosting the flask; the shot holds anyway—your breath meets mine, traffic writes cursive in the puddles, the bench rocks like a boat, a bus door sighs open then shut, and steam on the lens keeps slow time for us and for the lights that salt the wet road. Here’s the turn. Today I haul the sail. Tomorrow you row. Then both of us float, ledger ash in our cuffs. Let the till ribbon wind my wrist and lift with the weather. We’ll count by fog on the glass, not deeds. Speak the street names. My sleeve keeps time. Your step with mine, the quiet that keeps the frame.
Lyrics
most days are b-roll errands, lines, low rain we wait by bus nine we read the ads again you say wrong street, my bad we laugh and switch the signs a pigeon steals one chip we let the world rewind let quiet lead let breath align we share small frames we hold the line no score, just time your step with mine I text first three weeks then storms knock on your glass you call at two oh nine I pull on shoes, move fast we split the night in halves count coins for two small cabs we do not keep a book we light it, watch it ash drop every tally burn every page kindness does totals outside the cage no score, just time your step with mine we shop for bin and mop compare the swing-top lids we talk of nothing loud we misname rubber skids we fold the laundry slow warm cotton, ghost of rain your shirt turns to a flag it says we still remain boredom together still shines like gold the room grows kinder when two hands hold no score, just time your step with mine your map app spins in place my battery sits at red we guess a left by smell of coffee and of bread we miss the show, then grin we make a bench the scene we pass a flask of tea crown night in low-beam if every meet must blaze and shine we date the show not souls or time no score, just time your step with mine asymmetry will drift today I haul the sail tomorrow you take oars next week we both go pale we text and then forget we answer late, then soon the tide won’t balance out we still share one lagoon ledgerless living makes room for grace we pour, we rest we trade the pace no score, just time your step with mine count breaths, not deeds name roads, not needs no score, just time your step with mine no score, just time your step with mine quiet keeps the frame we walk, lights hum
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