love.

it was the biggest fraud in the world. it could even make the greatest detective astigmatic and fashionably not see frank abagnale rubbing on their faces.

a living autumn. seasoning to his ever so confusing slice of life. a wave to his earth. a speed meter that completes his day. long nights, racing and daydreams. headlights, speeding tickets. blue eyes, black jeans. pastries and candy.

same crime, same criminal, same fraud, same victim. it stabbed him from the front and like a hopeless horror movie victim, he fell, like a fool yapping like a lawyer to his old self.

no dine, no wine, straight to that one motel room. no words needed, no flowers needed. one room, shared secret. one look and his lips is yours.