They found him in the
Baltimore morning, part of the fine-falling snow on the edge of a
street in his forties maybe, frozen stiff like he was reaching for the
road, his iPod still playing Fleetwood Mac, good batteries, "Been down
one time, been down two times, never goin back again" coming out tinny
into the new day through the earphones when at last they broke the ice
and pried them them off.
Figured he'd just frozen where he fell, on his
way somewhere didn't matter anymore. Never knew nothing about the
memories in his head or how strong they were, knowledge is like that.
Hearts break, don't heal, happens all the time, though not that often
these days with Fleetwood Mac.
"You don't know what it means to win,"
the song looped on in the morgue, coroner couldn't bring herself to
turn it off. She was a Fleetwood fan, those songs brought back
memories, damn. You take 'em where you find 'em.