Ache

I know him. He's the one who walks down the streets with a walletful of broken twenties. The one with strawberry-colored lips and lines forming where his dimples used to be. He probably wouldn't consider it much of a bargain to exchange his hot blazer for some packet of desperate bliss. But who knows, his ache might be strong enough by now; and though his shaking's not visible yet, it will soon rattle the sense right off of him.