Early morning on the Nightline.

Just after 3 :15.

The drunks are leasing moonshine.

The mood is catshit mean.

I’ll be working on the Fairview.

I am reading a book called ‘IT.’

The streets are lined with nothing new.

Just cigarettes, pain, and spit.

The Westward train is rolling on.

The sun is rising in the East.

IT is darkest before the dawn.

Where all beauty shows the least.