circling circling,
not a spot to be found.
not a single slot upon
the crowded road
to park this car and get
out.
everyone is here.
no one is leaving.
with my blinker on, I
go around again,
and again.
farther out, then even
farther. I say a prayer
to the parking gods,
still nothing. some
things are not meant
to be.
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