His breathing is synchronized with a light fastened to the ATM, it blinks green for a second then dissipates to a sliver of shade, tight as the lungs he’s abusing to perform. I think his toes are purple, this conclusion is devised from watching a purple vein erect politely as an earthworm on his index finger, he’s using it to push buttons, they’re gray and inscribed with language. Swallow the moment. Hold a thought and birth urine when the bladder is full. She’s staring at an empty chair. She doesn’t belong to it, she’s intimidated by the faded floral pattern stretched across the cushion. She could fit here but there is more appealing. Security footage showed another him stumble out of the urinal and into the hallway. He screamed profanities at no-one but everyone listened. I think that’s how prophets come to be.