"Is it true?" I thought. So many miles away is where she was supposed to be. And yet, swaying her hair and tapping her foot on the gummy floor of an old theatre to the tumbling out of notes and beats I was hearing, had also heard.
I must have been staring. Or I should have been. Why wouldn't I?
"Is this the way it will always be?" seasons reason's jealous faculty.
The air smells something like found-used Kleenex and beer and her arms raise and she screams silently into the din; in a quasi-unison with all the other loosely strung moments of 'now'; these always-a-miscarriage moments of 'now'.