You held tightly to your cigarette and to your resolve.
I studied the fresh tread marks in the mud and clung to the bottle as if to my life.
In the distance, the sound of drunken laughter was beginning to grow sadder with the sunset.
I followed your gaze out over the abandoned smoke stacks to the east.
The rotting and rusting debris kept silent but went right on disintegrating in front of us.
I came here a boy but must leave as a man.
Out by the swamp cooler, where you first held my hand.
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