I walked to the corner store to get some licorice and coffee, like I do every morning. I saw the old man there and he was reading his newspaper out front, under the shade tree. He was smoking a cigarette and trying to forget the past. I went into the store and some bells attached toward the top of the door rang out, so the owners would know someone arrived. Anyone, after all, might be up to no good. Even me. I smiled when I saw the lady behind the counter, and she smiled back, and both of our smiles were posturing. I wore the skirt with no pockets so she could not turn them out. I went and got my paper cup and then put a lot of sugar and cream in there and then poured the Colombian black blood brew which was to sustain me for many hours, while I read my comic books and ate my licorice in the park, with my kite string tied to my toe and taut into the sky, attached to nothing. My kite you cannot see is sky blue.