In between poetry booking there a million or so other word directions I’m playing with… and many etceteras and so ons…
Adrianna is not like most addicts. Hans has never assumed her to be so. The drugs started so the voices might cease. He has finally discovered her… right now. Walking in her steps down First Avenue.
Adrianna is wearing red denim. A yellow and navy scoop neck singlet. She is a pretty twenty three year old. She has not been sober for thirty months. Eighteen when it became unbearable.
Should Hans reflect time he might be thirty. He portrays no element but pure life. Residing in moments opposed to next. Shoulder length raven locks that shine cobalt. He is four feet behind Adrianna.
Adrianna works at a coffee shop. She enjoys the company of caffeine. Hans pauses to avoid being seen yet. He is concerned about her reaction. The scent of sandalwood tresses lingers.
Inside the shop there is a small counter. No more than twelve people can fit within. Not including Adrianna and Miles. Miles is a retired State Statistician. He emigrated from Australia.
Hans is on the corner of 12th and 1st. He walked ten blocks north to prepare himself. If anyone will affect him — it’s her. Rhythmic Latin beats fill the city streets. It is a hot and sunny summer day.