this morning #2277.

this morning, they discharged him under the orange of a morning sun. a clear drawstring bag in hand with his ID, twenty bucks, a bus pass & a prescription for a month inside of it. the same clothes he was wearing when he came in on his back. no set of instructions. no set direction except away from this place. clean-shaven for once. presentable enough to bum a smoke off of a passing stranger. he took it down to the end of the block to enjoy in peace. leaned up against a wall & surveyed his surroundings. at this hour, mostly empty streets. he took that cigarette all the way down to the filter and, with no place to go, flicked it to the ground. started walking west. under the highway & down to the water where he found sufficient shade & sat there waiting for something new.