There were still sunsets in 2006 and

the radio still required a listening ear. Cars

honking at futures, no one expecting a flyover or

construction workers seeing the brunt of society in

the midday sun. If there were things to think about there

was always geometry, and the heavens appeared after the

sunset to educate movement by hide-and-seek, despite

light pollution giving constellations no respite. I watched above

and the workers did too, the bleeding clouds injured from city vices

too old for children. If the future was a red-black apocalypse there was still

pop-punk then, to make friends with the static from bad reception, all

before the buildings engulf us into a universe without sunsets, one

that forgets how child angst has the clarity of distant night flights.