Temperate. With a focus always on. Echoes of heartbeats fainter. Listening for the way the sunlight makes a smell like a gastronomic painter. Over analysis means doubling back on yourself as a way of singling out. Generally speaking, I can't account for everything but what counts is convenience. Unlock me with a memory. Steal my identity, my magnetized strips of faculties. Staccato stars, unravel me.

It's easy isn't it? It'd better be; a better being, another breath in another mouth. Mind the way the convenience store never seems to indicate emptiness. Is it a binary construction or can it just stay alive somehow in the fickle passage of artificial air and time? You keep restocking it, why? This is the hardest part of your fluorescent machine, gaseous and radiant, the frozen heart of yourself burning blackly.

Look around you. Let the ground beneath you be the ground for your electric attention. Shock it with your walking and keep at it through the ways the sunlight breaks on shadows and their walkers. There is more to a healthy diet than the nutritious crunch of artificially preserved freshness, juices sliding sticky all over your face. Drink the local brew; collected from its rivers' waters and its ageless mountains' herbal furs. They offer the convenience of shade.  They'll quench your homesick thirst.