There was always plenty of tomorrow-talk, bright ribbons of noise amounting to nothing.
What we would do, where we would go, how we’d become this or that.
We erected fragile monuments to ourselves, and expected others to pay their respects, perhaps even worship the idols we had carved out of thin, ribbed air.
We talked big because that was the racket, because we were kids on a street-corner,
emotional asthmatics stealing helium from the lungs and lives of others,
prospectors mining for rare altitude.