A slow drag blow. a puff of smoke rises. Angel baby halo
floats up, up, up disappearing into a vapor mist that hovers
over a neighborhood’s mystique and gutsy reputation

Tommy G flicks his cigaret butt onto the sidewalk.
a boy, an era when cool was a pack of Lucky Strikes
tucked into the left sleeve of your white t-shirt

The sway in your walk, black leather jacket – a tattoo
the beat of the times seemed to emphasize fast cars,
fast women, cheap booze and the thrill of a short life.

Only the good die young; an idiom from the Greeks
followed up by Wordsworth. Words to live and die by.
“Whom the gods love dies young; best go first.”

A mantra, a philosophy, a lifestyle with a brooding
James Dean leaning against a wall; a generational
inspiration. throw caution into the wind, take a chance

On what you don’t know; but anticipate. moving beyond
what’s comfortable, taking a deep long breath, leap of faith.
jumping into a preconceived notion of what is unknown

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