A woman in a red cardigan, gets behind me in the line. She looks at her feet, looks at the stained glass or at the price list, anything to avoid my line of vison, she is unremarkable, only what she is wearing is( very alike like yours).

Nothing else to take me back to you or bring you to me except her red cardigan.

Four tables across, sit two people. Could have been you and me but they are not definately you and me(though I suspect they are becoming you and me). As she grabs his hand(I notice him flinch) he shoots her a wan smile(this is the duck decoy), she notices and takes evasive action. (His smile, the bullet, becomes a question mark that a trick smoker could have placed between them.)

Nothing else to take me back to you or bring you to me except their downcast eyes.

Closer to me, the blue chair is unfilled. Words for both sides of this conversation I easily posit. Even though talking to myself can be misconstrued as looniness, words abrade edginess of remorse and philosophize our shifts.

Nothing else to take me back to you or bring you to me except all the silence!

2003:01:30 15:00 Atlanta (GT)