the toes of my shoes
are lucky
they are the first to graze
the fallen leaves
on my walk
to the record store
at first I am molasses
honey wax
savoring the cutting
crinkled air
swirling it against the inside
of my cheek
thoughts of summers
past holding the small of my back
eventually I reach
said record store
the owner strolls
out from the back
bits of pretzels hissing
through his teeth
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