silence in stereo.

I love the way their mouths move, speechless. Slow-motion sunburned hands gripping lukewarm mugs of hot cocoa to warm the chill of the beach in February. The music has drowned out the verbal communication and it’s a respite for me.
I sip a Stella, adjust my headphones and stare at an unevenly spackled wall the color of nutella and marshmallows mixed.
It smells of coffee and, sometimes, cigarettes. The door is open. A table sits in the doorway. There are free papers and flyers for South Beach Waxing Co. and a burlesque show that I attended at one point with an old friend of mine. It was void of sex appeal, but the attempts at lewd Santa characters were more than laughable. I lost one of my favorite black and white earrings on the floor that night. I also left my friend to go to the deli across the street and sneak a turkey sandwich and a free bag of chips. I sat in an empty doorway and shared them both with a homeless man I recognized from my daily walks to and from work.
Everything around here is going out of business. The dim sum restaurant, the veggie hot dog stand, the local record store. I have yet to become frightened. I tend to succeed in the face of immense suffering.