Do you pray for happiness? I get on my knees, and beg for glimpse of it, not for the stability it may provide but for the bragging privileges. The cigarette locked between lips rips my skin upon its retreat. Blood reaches my tongue, awakening my taste buds to the salinity. My fingers, nicotine-stained, keep the smell of tobacco lingering around the way a thick fog hangs after a storm. Thunder cracks, a whip on a bull, and in the distance I am sitting on the steps of Place Ville Marie and I’m breaking my back bone, bewitched by beliefs I barely grasp. My pain subsides, and my attention is focused on A pulchritudinous woman “Today, me pretty,” said she. Impeccable Grammar. I don't speak to her, but turn the other direction Like a four letter word, I am a cowardly shadow figure, creeping from block to block my feet race with no reason or direction. Squirrels exchange gossip and Birds stare accusingly, shriek obscenities reads the tale of my reflective notebook. A friendly fire growing within me, my outlet, my defence mechanism Un mauvais ouvrier point de bons outils A battle with the hydra, with each head slaughtered, the problem worsens Vroom hiss the cars, ladies' heels click, and men strut in suits, in the city it is only natural But still it is obvious for anyone to see that this part of town is empty. Only the ghosts of yesterday night lurk around.