But we don’t know each other. Haven’t swapped three sentences. That corner where you scream demanding money is a vacuum where bitter oranges quietly sour on thin boughs. We are no longer friends? But we never were. The words “longer”       “friends” I don’t deem you understand. “Longer” means time. “Friends” compel time we never made. We know nothing of each other. I assume you inhabit a margin       a different one than my own. You know all in this town of addicts. You take from those not from this town. The town knows what you take. The town knows your leg was taken from you. Knows you hide steel in its place. On that corner every morning shouting for the luck you never had       no longer friends. Never friends. Never.