Two white French girls smoke a Turkish hookah and listen to three black African Americans sing rap the hookah bubbles the mobile smacks out the emasculated music their mouths relinquish their language to the jam the pencil makes no sound
The clouds scoot orange and pink bruises across the skyline like the weather can’t wait can’t change quick enough it’s October already and we’re still not done with summer; cling to every humid evening hang around every last beam of the too punctual sunset
In the club the beats begin but it’s too early; no one’s inside One of the French girls coughs back a dud **** the bar door creaks the traffic whispers with bored engines the beats want to sail off with the clouds but are kept echoing between four walls
Time overcomes space then the beats are cut a siren wails, a seagull screams the traffic streams the awnings rock little trees my concrete idyll
……
Two Spanish men arrive and have a three-way food talk with a mobile
A piano begins to sound out Aquarium by Saint-Saëns the beats return then stop a door opens a door closes the hubbub returns
The Spanish settle on an Argentinean the French girls switch to a chantress