fifty-four: much

i sit at my desk. it's the dead of night and there is absolute silence except for the cars which zoom pass intermitently, speeding because they know that there is little to stop them. my balloon bobs near to me, yearning to fly away except for the weight which is just that much heavier than it's will to escape. and i know soon it will give up and slump to the ground.

two very different situations. the cars unfettered, the balloon attached to its yoke.