- [her]: «how was your lunch?»
- [me]: «awful. but i ate it anyway since this was all i had.»
judging from her face i guess she was expecting a slightly more formal answer.
at work people keep on disappearing never to be spoken of again. in the afternoon, a bird flies by then loudly comes crashing into my window. and my heart stops. my throat is tight and my stomach is in knots. i'm scared to turn around fearful that death might be here and if ignore it it's going to be just fine. my hair smells like cigarette and on the bus a guy twice my size chooses to sit by my side, squeezing me towards the window. and inside i feel like i could die because i can hardly bear this. the intensity. sebastien-dahlin' calling me on my cell as i'm still stuck next to that window, awaiting my nearly coming deliverance.
she didn't ask again how my lunch was.
- [him]: «would you happen to have a cigarette?»
- [me]: «yes. but they're mine.»