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  • Lying on a Forest Park bench just by The Muny.
  • Shattered.

    Shards of glass on the planks beneath the "Do Not Feed The Geese" sign.
  • Look through the back of the bench, and the picturesque island pavilion stands before you.
  • Back to the bottle.

    Thoughts.
  • Empty.

    Still.

    Malevolent.

    Round.

    Mysterious.

    Jagged.

    Smooth.

    Cracked.

    Useless.

    Violent.

    Utilitarian.

    Disposable.

    Reflective.

    Opaque.
  • And questions.
  • Who left it there?

    Why was it shattered?

    Why was it not placed in any of the nearby trash bins?

    Who drank it?

    Did anyone drink it?

    Did anyone cut themselves?

    Was it left so someone would cut him or herself?
  • Within scenes such as these, I see every aspect of living.
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