Canis

Streets exhale absence.  Steam from the grates like dragging cigarette smoke, unspoken thoughts curling into the winter night.  Whole town of lonely fools, every curtain drawn. Where does one go to get warm?  Some washed up astronaut dragging a cigarette, helmet tucked under arm, cigarette tip just another star without a constellation. One can tell which stars are lonely fool astronauts by watching the chests of sleeping strays rise and fall in exhale.