The End of the Alley (a poem, I think..)

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

He's sweating

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