My fingers run along the fake wood

Too smooth and cool in the early night

The phone sits notificationless

Seemingly without purpose

The beat thumps

The crescendo rises

Saxophones rift on chords

A voice, melancholy, intones melodies

My feelings gassify

Same for the bubbles in the sparkling water bottle

I feel the singer is saying something important

But it’s lost on me

The evening fades and stars alight

But it’s lost on me 

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