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We sit with glasses of alcohol in front of us. Mine is almost empty and I cannot stop fidgeting with the matchbox. I like his music, the industrial meets Twin Peaks. I want to hear more. I want to roll around in that head of his. He and Wil chat and I have nothing to say. I am drunk off of everything. I cannot remember what we talked about, except a brief moment of venting about an upsetting contract from yesterday. His eyes smile at me, as if they are sincere. I want to believe it.
alone.
in a subway station. noone is around. the platform has been recently sprayed. everything was dancing around me, and now sudden silence, emptiness and confusion, in one second: a whisking, metallic screeching wind. Goodbye. Goodnight. Where are the stairs to the Downtown 4? Alone. No one to ask. Wil is far off. And he, he...never existed.
