it got bet-ter

when you're only coughing up the remains of a missing lung, you can pretty much walk without remembering that you're doing so, and you realise that, maybe, this is your city, after all—there's only one thing to do: you pull on a clean shirt, tie back the hair, and then you go out. later, when you're sitting on a creaky boat that some cement-gray men seem to be, all the while, fixing, with draped nets and only the sky above you, when (although you thought maybe you'd drink something classy and home-made) it's cheap beer again. when you take back everything you said about raucous music, because you like the way it's being stamped out on a floor that looks as though it couldn't support half of such. when you're getting some looks because you're just watching, but not appearing to mind. when, because you had a series of lively conversations earlier and it looks like the possibility of them continuing for at least a few more weeks, with the new cord, may be there. because, especially after the rain, the night seems to stand on a warmer cusp—spring, almost. all this, and when you walk around the slippery deck, then you're glad that you never changed from the pants that drag along it, holding you in place.