The headline reads:
“Loved one missing. Finder’s fee.”
And we wait, wait, wait.
For the end of the beginning,
Or was it the beginning of the end?
It might all be in my head.
A paperboy shouts in the street,
“Have you seen this person?”
I whisper back into the milk carton,
“Have you seen me?”
And we repeat, repeat, repeat.
White milk mustache dreams,
Dancing barefoot in the streets,
Singing loudly until we can’t breathe,
And for a moment,
You see me, me, me.
Or so the headline reads.