"Isn't it sad?", Mike says looking at everything but me. Sitting at a four person table, the two of us sit diagonally across from each other. Some nameless elevator music plays above us here in Starbucks.
I answer back, staring at my empty plastic cup,"Is what sad? The fact that we're in a Starbucks right now or that this town closed down the last non-corporate coffee shop?" When I say 'this town' there is a certain bitterness, because I do not speak of the township government but the town as an organism. This old town of mine is no longer mine and it's infected.
"Well yes, there's that." Mike says to me with a slight scoff in my direction. "But isn't it sad that it's more socially acceptable to Fuck around than to ask someone to hold you so that you can weep?" The rings of condensation on the table are what hold both of our gazes but not our attention.
"Are you saying you want me to hold you, Mike?" I say still looking at the moist rings on the wood grain.
"Reilly. I've already go ahold of you."
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