French Fries

2am in the morning and I was having a 2nd pack of french fries.

I walked alone in the silently dark midst of a concrete cosmopolitan undergrowth. Safe from claustrophobic people and circumstances. I should have been used to it... this seeming continuum of unbreathability. Like the voiceless plea of a dying fish: will the air pump work again, or was there never one in the first place?

It is too dark, but little rays are breaking through the clouds. Yet at times are those lightning flashes in a thick cumulonimbus, I do question... or are those beacons of passing traffic in the heavens far far awat.

I have denounced my liking of french fries, since the food poisoning affair with Mcdonald's some time back. And why am I eating it again, I let my inquiring mind drift as my broken soul floated along an empty street.

Sure, as you bite a hot french fries, and u close your mouth and u breathe out through your nose... that must be the better half-sibling of smoking, the less poisonous one. But of what concern is fatality to do with a living dead? Thank you for what little life in left in this body.

There is something about life that a packet of french fries can relate to... and that is the slight feeling of heat in my chest... that warmth... that usually come with all the rowdiness in the brightness of the eateries on occasions. Of family gatherings. Of others.

As I ghost in steps slow and shaky, like those taken usually on the top of buildings, I indulge in that french fries smoking and that little warmth from the food passing thru the oesophagus and past my chest. That heat of life glow gently and disappear quickly like a firefly in the dark.

The night is a void, and the air is cold... and where is the lamp to my feet as I ghost the streets.

Am I lost? In the shadows of the valley.

I need to write this... I need to ask these... though my answers would probably be hidden far and deep in a right brain. In fact, maybe it's that right brain that is elusive to me.