Just another night, happens to be a Saturday.
He’s hanging out in a storefront.
The only other with him happens to be a porcelain wind-up musical doll.
Which also happens to be a cat wearing a dress.
He’s drinking Yuengling, smoking Turkish Silvers.
His first pack in two weeks. The nicotine left his system completely.
The desire came back.
He’s wearing torn jeans and his absent girlfriend’s sweater over an old flannel.
The cat’s dress is green and floral.
The fake cat could be considered creepy, even eerie by others.
He bought it at a thrift store in Camden a while back.
He named her Beyonce, after that stray cat that would jump through the front door
and wander throughout his old house on Christian street.
None of his roommates in that house understood her. They’d literally throw her out.
He would let her go into the basement- his room.
“I miss her.”
He takes another swig,
and one last drag,
as he stares through glass
into the street where she might still be, hopefully.