Some days it was the way her clothes draped 
and clung 
Some days it was the weather. 
Some days it was because she swore the whole town 
was made of cheap buildings 
with even cheaper fluorescent lights. 

Bulbs that turned everything they touched
into a blander version of itself. 

Not like the downtown signs of cities 
that burned 
with an ever-present hint of scandal. 

Not like the streetlamps 
that made wet pavement look like a golden river 
running down, 
An untouchable mirage. 

These lights emitted an ugly greenish tinge 
that made everyone look the same,
masking their substance. 

But it didn’t matter if it was October third 
or August nineteenth 
or the first of May 
or New Years Eve. 
They were all the same. 
These were the days of exit strategies.

— “Exit Strategies,” submitted by thateternalsummer