She: Sitting right beside him. Stillness.
She went back to her writing, singing quietly.
He: He licked his pencil; but then, without
using it, threw it on the floor.
She: In her head, she paused, still writing,
still singing. She phrased a complaint.
He: She was so boring, trivial. All these
different words she muttered; to provoke him.
She: Stupid, she thought, stupid. It was; he
was.
He: He knew, she was deep but slow, too
fuzzy to mention. She'd been an exciting game. You run everything, she'd said.
The slight creak of her chair now. Indistinguishable movement.
She: He thought it was dark.
He: She spoke now. "What time?"
She: He was strange, each day puzzled to
find himself. Quick, insane, dark figure, bent. Snug, trying to stop.
He: She'd been lying beneath his head. Just
my legs, their arrival. Joke or not, motionless, bare.
She: The ground floor of the end.
He: He liked the sound of his chair. There
was some amusement. The open doorway. He was being testy, a hole through strangeness.
She: He was winning again. His mouth drew
her, the look.
He: Something under each day without words.
A recalcitrant look today.
She: She pushed her annoyance again.
He: In the dark on the seat opposite. He
didn't understand it.
She: The fabric of her, the vehicle, her
boots. People taking notes. Talking sounds whispered.
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