The smell of leaves blows up in your face. As you walk along the cracked foot path you wonder how many steps it will take you until you reach home; you start to count; 1, 2, 3 . . .
There is a chill in the wind and as it hits you, you put your hands in your pockets. It’s cold on your face but refreshing. 4, 5, 6 . . . you walk slightly out of your way to kick that round rock. 7, 8, 9, 10 . . . you have a spring in your step because you are so fucking hot. The thought of him makes you sweat. Eleven and you realise you are dead. Your all alone you pumped that love drug too hard. The weight of the word brought you down. However the feeling has all but gone. What is coming? You have already paid a significant debt. You are potentially committing a criminal offence.
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