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She puts her cigarette into the brown
ashtray and turns to the
group of men at her table.
“Sorry about that boys. Sometimes,
one’s fan want things that
aren’t there’s.”
What did they want, said the men
collectively.
“Well, one asked for my phone number
and the other asked for my
extensive jewelry collection, now
I can’t be giving that away, now can I?”
And as they all laughed, thousands of
fragments of lights filled their
lungs and flung themselves to
every corner of
the room where scavengers feed off
the red and green and dark tinged yellow.
They become a multitude of nations
and the throngs of men at the
bar become a wall. Her hair is
in a headdress and her skin is smooth.
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