There's a scream from the end of the alley
His coffee radiating his knuckles
Barely a thought given to the sound
He lights a smoke and stares down the morning shadows
Until she arrives with notebooks and gadgets
She crosses her legs
She's wearing large black shades
She is aloof
He hears another scream from the end of the alley
There's what starts as an exquisite Miles Davis flurry and becomes an angry black voice tearing through a single boulder shaped beat pounding out the Doppler through the intersection
Is that a scream?
She's on her phone
Her fingers an argumentative bramble
The sun is rising behind him
The shadows slink
That's not screaming
She reverses the cross in her legs
He smiles at her big black glasses and waits for more laughter from the end of the alley
Chrysalis, a growing collection of very short fiction.
Unless noted, all pics credited to Skitz O'Fuel.