It’s okay.
Is it?
Yes. She holds him closer, about his head. Shhh.
He can smell lavender, far off and near, a long time gone and here with them. Right here.
I’m here.
The light casts careful shapes on their bodies, with only a breeze through the window as company.
Don’t sit on this side if you have a problem with polluted skies.
The sun splits into sharp rays over the blotted out spires of industry.
How could I? He pulls away his sunglasses.
Coffee?
No.
She pours herself a cup, adds three sugars.
You used to take cream.
I used to do a lot of things.
Like smile.
Never around you.
He pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket and offers her one. She waves it away.
You have changed.
He lights up, snorting streams of heavy smoke across the table. He is a sleeping dragon.
Can we get on with this?
He inhales again and holds his breath. His eyes reflect vermillion as they catch the dying sun.
A car on overload pulls up behind her. The top is down. Some muscle bound guy with wind swept hair, sun-blonde, is driving.
You’re acting like there’s a rush.
That’s my ride.
Fine. He sneers.
The papers?
Here. He throws them onto the table. The sugar pot rattles and tips over. White grains spill out.
Don’t make this hard.
That wasn’t my intention.
She opens up the file and flips to the last page.
You need a pen?
No. She has one in her hands already.
Her hand scratches out the final line to their story. She slaps the file shut.
He stares away to his right at the late evening haze. The tarmac boils off the horizon.
It’s going to be a hot night, he says.
I’m going now.
He looks her in the eyes. She covers them with glasses and for a moment he glimpses the mirror image of himself.
Goodbye.
She runs to the car and doesn’t look back. Her new man kisses her on the cheek and waits a moment longer than he should before pulling away. His smile is laced with arrogance. The car screams away like a bullet, throwing up a plume of orange dust.
Off in the distance, those towers belch black blood.
I hate goodbyes, he mutters.
When I get off the bus, I give them a smile and they return it with a gentle wave of joined, wrinkled hands.
