fiftyone

The warmth in his belly wouldn't last long, he knew. The snare drum echoed off the walls out of time, syncopating and syncopating syncopating. He closes his eyes and imagines his life as if it happened like it's happening in the song, a solemn introduction and crescendos and tearful harmonies and awkward, out of tune intermissions. The waitress interrupts him, he respectfully declines. She seems nice. He watches her walk back to the kitchen and imagine what song her life sounds like, and he just met her but he wonders what their songs sound like intertwined.