Where did you go so lonely, where?

Phone numbers are falling from the sky, from a fissure in the sky, saint peter is floating you his digits. It snows them everywhere you go. Inside a door, and a phalanx of left shoes sit cheek to jowl, tamed. The street outside is patiently waiting, but it ends before it reaches what it wants to show you. Tectonic plates approach and kiss below the ocean. The world is remembering itself. Your hand is clutched around one key. Explosions ring the air: buenos aires, buenas noches, bueno, bueno. It is time for you to leave. A single mote of dead skin has slipped to your eyelash. Dine, dine, and be resplendent. The Father is picking up the check.