Stop looking.

The red lettering with the white background

Light shining into it from the lamp post wanting to belong

A few feet in the air away from it, a small lonely balcony reaches out, staring at the commotion

Below the sign, green growing out of barrels

The yuppies live here, that’s right

Brooklyn Winery

Ironically, under the sign the windows are designed to look like cells out of a jail

Escaping from your addiction not the bar is the idea

The next one mixes an industrial exterior with a bridal interior, the curtains anyway

another illusion

A woman, walks by both, office in her breath, a cellphone to her ear.

She looks blurry to me.

The sidewalk is cracked.

There’s a puddle over there.

I’m afraid to notice the window that I see from the corner of my eye.

It sits above a store of some kind.

A jagged shutter has been pulled down, keeping out intruders, it’s midnight hero.

Beaten and tagged by someone’s spray paint.

On the other side of that window, blue, just all blue.

I’m watching it now, waiting for it to change color.

It’s not.

For the first time in a long time,

a shiver runs from my feet to my head

and I keep walking home.