Outdoors a young soldier with large eyes gazes into a Church

at its ikons and holy images

while clandestinely not many strides behind him

an extremely inebriated man weaves – skillfully – and stops to urinate silently on the stone foot of one of the Churchs flying buttresses 

the drunk is a writer who no longer feels urged to write other novels

his last book satisfied him immensely

he can breathe memorized passages from it as easily and thoughtlessly as he can draw coin from his pocket 

he fondles his cock

shaking the last bit from it

then distracted

the shaking turns into stroking

as he spies through an open window  

across the cobblestone courtyard

a barmaid bent deeply to gather thin-stemmed glasses and ceramic steins

clutching them she cradles their open mouths to her ample breasts

the soldier and the writers heads are fixed in opposite directions

each fascinated by what their eyes behold
                                              they are deaf

surrounded in the black night

oblivious

early early Friday morning,  26  7. 13