Broken shards of glass littered the space below the bridge. Accidental blood from my throwing hand dripped down and barely covered the half torn labels that struggled to hang on to their factory-attached fixtures.
While the rest of the city slept under a starry summer sky, the space I occupied remained silent except for the inebriated voices mingling in my head and the sound of shattered revelry that was loud enough to ignore any voice of reason.
More rain had fallen and leaves had started to slowly gather on the sidewalks around town.
Doors slammed and the sound of sopping wet shoes was the first audible noise to meet either of their ears.
“Lower than the usual low? What’s it?”
“Nah”
“Give it.”
“Nah. Unimportant.”
“Give it.”
“Ah, fuck. It doesn’t matter.”
“What’s it? Give me one word.”
“Lifeless. Worthless. Useless. Done.”
“And that was four words.”
“Seriously. I think my soles are dead.”
The rain rapped hard against the kitchen window and added volume to the pools that slowly filled in the divots of our front yard. The knocks on the glass acted almost in unison with the annoying and repetitive key tapping that nearly killed you.
Worse yet, the process of squeezing my brain for thoughts continued until it was a desolate wasteland and my dead eye cavities thirsted for nourishment.
“Dude! Go outside. That rain’s not a mirage.”
BLONDE ON BLONDE 