Andy Brown

Endgame

She hangs loosely in film circles like shoulder straps on a summer dress.
After the screening we have a beer and discuss bug repellent. She works
as a waitress and men are like bugs on her every night. I suggest "Jerk Off".
We could apply for a patent together. When she laughs I notice her front
teeth have been knocked crooked. On her it is endearing.

A ska band at the film party with everyone jogging on the spot, going
nowhere. We sit beside the speaker deaf to our own words. "Did you fall
as a child?" She just nods her head to the music.

Back at her loft I pet the cat while her boyfriend sleeps in the middle of the
room. The cat is starved for affection. She leads me to the back porch
where the sun begins to creep into the story. We drink tea as if it were a
clock. I fumble over her key chain, a mini chess-set. I want to kiss her,
perhaps that's why I'm here. But I never take my hand off the pawn,
hesitate before every move. The instant the sodden bags appear at the
bottom of our cups she says, "You can leave down the fire escape."

Next morning I look up the patent office in the phone book. I consider
ripping out the page and slipping it under her door before she wakes up
refreshed. Instead, I attach fake labels to spray paint cans all afternoon.