No raised voices. No sobs of fury. Just whispered discussion.
She locks the bathroom door. He sits in the leather chair by the light bulb, with his beer, cigarettes and ashtray. He listens to nothing.
Ideas can be broken down, but an itemized analysis would be meaningless. Emotions are just particle heavy vapors swirling like a sluggish avalanche in the mix of memories.
Future plans—are you; am I—forget about who was right and who was wrong. Just explain your aspirations.
Outside are strangers. They’re always watching, waiting to maim the first to depart.
Copyright 1994, held by author