Make a Wish, Toss a Penny

Cool, Crisp, and refreshing. The September air bites as it invades my tar stained lungs. School buses populate the port city streets like elongated New York cabs. Kids rushing to tell tales of the weekend past, about Sarah kissing Paul, and Ben passing out after funneling 5 beers.
I keep my head up, eyes shifting regularly, hands buried deep within these poly-cotton pockets. The breeze off the harbor is far more effective than coffee as I shake the cobwebs from an evening I'd love to forget. I won’t have to worry about this again if all goes as planned.
Cross the street, cut through the park, the century old trees act as a blanket, shielding me from the breeze, and from view, The less they see; the better.
I pass the fountain where we found each other that summer, but this time I found nothing but pigeons and empty Listerine bottles from the homeless drunkards who call this place home. The fountain is flowing heavily, spilling like I spilled my guts to you that June evening where we watched the sun set over the fire hall, and drank malt liquor on top of the market.
I will return to the scene of the crime, and reclaim what is rightfully mine, if it's the last thing I do. I promise to wait until the stars come out, just like you made me wait until the neighbors fell asleep. We won't wake them again. This is going to be something the children will gossip about.