I am just not in the fucking mood to discuss this with you. There are somethings I do not like, that is all.
Is it that simple?, I think. Alright, I say.
“The sound of rain on concrete drifts in and out.”
How are you? she asks.
How does one answer that question?, I think. Alright, I say.
You must be happy, you are doing what you want to do.
“Somewhere, a door bell pierces the rain”
I am not that sure.
“Crude, canned laughter from a comedy show seeps through walls and spills onto the floor.”
What do you mean?
Fuck this, I think. I say nothing.
You’re not sure of what you are doing? she asks.
“The rain gets more persistent.”
The only thing I am sure of are things that I do not want to do.
That’s good, she says.
How do you know, I think. I guess, I say.
“The rain has started to whisper…”