Tumbling teeth and grinding green grass while we watch from our porches of strife. The cold and condensation stick our hands to glass. Children stay in their rooms, sleeping until they can’t dream anymore. We never know when they’ll leave. Sit a while, watch a cloud or two pass before you decide to fall for that short dress. Before heels and smoke cloud your mind, make you foggy with uncertainty and leave you waking with your vocal cords missing.