licking the salt from my arms and shoulders. the trees and sky are still with the heat. in the office on the ground floor, the property manager smokes a damp smelling cigarette while far off thunder rumbles long and low. on rue oberkampf, my butcher has stabbed his partner, and emergency responders dressed in white scuttle like sand crabs around his prone body. a crowd has gathered loosely around the place where he lies, their hands hang awkwardly at their sides. he died on the hot pavement, like a dog. so much meat to be divided. smooth your palms across the map of your life and put your fingers down on the places where hurts, where it persists. poke dimples in your cheeks, turn the corner of a lip up, smile artifice. the clouds break, and the heat cuts slightly. rake your fingers down your thighs and exhale through pursed lips, close your eyes while you stand, and gather your things, and move towards the door again.