My name is Casey

It is sometimes regrettable to be only four feet from the ground, your view skewed by an angle dealt deftly by genetic makeups; not applied to the face, but the faces of others see applied. Your angled perspective does not necessarily reveal the truth of the matter when scenes unfold before you, only inches away, even in slow motion. It does tend to lay tricks slowly upon your eyes. Gentle they are, yet laced with glue that keeps the eyes shut afterword...

But, I guess this disadvantage appears at every height, so I do feel less alone.

But I cannot be a credible source, for many other reasons I have neither the time nor the energy to reveal, just trust that when I see a blue car softly turn the corner by the street light, and the man in the long grey coat get out, that I cannot prove that I saw anything. I can't say that he didn't get out, or that he did in fact continue on his way, swerving into the hedges just beyond me, just out of my view before I turned my head.

No, not at my height, I cannot attest to any of this. I know that man, and I've seen him before in my house with my mother, calling me "son" but not in the paternal sense. I can't say that I saw him that night, or ever at all.

I can only hope that the stripes of my shirt blend slowly off into the night, yellow and mauve tinted hues, floating off in the form of fireflies whose lives have far more signifigance when they are silent.

I can only hope that nobody ever asks me what I think I saw, or why. Nobody would ask me why I was out alone at night to begin with, anyone who knows me at least. I just hope they don't ask about that man and what I saw him careen into before the metal crunch found it's way into my ears and made me run off crying, tearing the knees on my overalls from force of exertion. Rocks and gravel are my sworn enemy, so my cut hands may prove that I was there, but at my height, really, that could have happened anywhere.

It really could have been anywhere.