White Knight

She was blond.
I think if you laid with her next to the river at night, under the Amazon moon, the stars pricked into the blackness, her hair would shimmer.
In the sun there was a tree and that tree was white and I wondered if, at night, the tree would still be white. There was not a green leaf on it, only snow-colored flowers, each a separate flake.
Across the way there was the lamp.
Later, after the sun was setting over California and rising in Australia and it was dark here, I found the tree again and looked at it. It shimmered under the crescent Amazon Moon whose horns point up, under the pin specks of stars, and across from the orange glow of a streetlamp, across the way.
My skin glistened in the lamp light.
And I wondered if I was a white knight.
More importantly, I looked for her, the blond, in the black night.
It's hard to find your princess.

Lastly spoken

"She spilled coke on it, was a big black stain, you see, can't wear it, not without a stain everywhere else, to make it uniform, a proper uniform."
"No, no, no, no, no. Can't have that, not before the ball."
"Fortunately she had another one. Similar, in reserve. My favorite thing."
"The black one?"
"Little black thing. With mocha shoes."
"Bet she needed one after that."
"A cigarette? You bet. Let me have one, too. Thanks. What about you? Too breezy to light up here. Here hold the flame. Tomorrow it'll rain, shame. Spring is the best time to smoke."
"I thought you were giving up."
"Can't hardly give up the good things in life. Don't tell her that. She knows another me."
"Who are you?"
"Oh, come on."
"We need to pay, hold on for a moment."
"I hate my job. I hate my lifestyle."
"Both aren't that bad, trust me."
"Money, sex, music, beer, is that what that song was saying?"
"Might as well. Throw in porn and some of my other favorite things."
"Never anything wrong with that, we all need the good things, favorite things. Such as my Facebook crush, pretty little thing."
"Helicopters."
"New shoes."
"Pine trees with a heavy snow."
"Nap time!"
"Home. I miss the mountains, the culture, her and him and the cool summer evenings. Soccer, too. Castles, hiking, the air, the juice. Gorgeous place."
"Hardly a place for me. Never thought it could be. Good things aren't places, silly."
"'Good' is where you're at, a feeling, and, unfortunately, not here."
"Let me take a drag of that."
"Silver spoons. That's where money, sex, beer, whiskey, vodka, porn, cars, helicopters and sofas come from, but never mind that. It's too hard to get the good life."
"The good life is an illusion, really."
"Hardly."
"What are you wearing to the masquerade ball?" She asked.
"Well, a mask, of course," I said, lastly, without saying that much in the end.