excuse me sir, i say, we talk and talk, the words sound like a knock-knock joke in my head. whose there? the things needing cold are kept in the refrigerator and the things needing cooking are put in the stove, so where do my hands go? and your heart? my shoes squeak on the floor but no one takes notice, or they do but don't show it, perhaps they are thinking of birds or of foxes or of the tiny buttons for the radio in their silver toyota. the mans mouth moves and only after i walk away do i wonder where i was looking on his face and where he was looking on mine, he had a silver ring and glasses pushed slightly too far down his nose, but it suited him. i laugh when i'm supposed to as opposed to when i'm not and when i walk away i do it casually, the nonchalance ringing in my ears like a fire alarm, why are we in this room? it is nice when you touch my hands. why was she doing all the talking for her daughter? what does she dream of? what makes her suffer? why are we pretending i'm a waitress and you're dining at this restaurant and the worlds not spinning at all and bloods not being shed and there's no such thing as love or fate, of crying or laughing so hard there's no way you could ever get a word to come from your belly and out of your mouth. it didn't matter to you and it still doesn't, i walked outside and the sky was making breathing noises so i closed my eyes and accepted my fate.