Where I Write These Days

Sitting on the rocks by the babbling sewage and road runoff rivulet behind my apartment. Canal Road and the Canal are below me and the sun is warm. The burble babble of the poisoned water drowns out most of the traffic noise, and the smell is tolerable most days. The sunlight glitters and gleams on the fouled falling water, uncaring of our damage or danger. That orb will bear silent witness far longer than our life, our love, and our crime.