Afterhours

It’s so late from a
fucked up day

Don’t stop now

My window reflects black
back at me

I’m playing your music so loud
in an empty office
It’s like those movies where all the cubicles are empty

The floor, teeming with suits only hours earlier,
is now dark and quiet.

Stripped away and naked.

A wigless chemo patient.

The camera pans towards the music that
plays
Getting louder as a halo of light is slowly
brought into frame

A desk lamp illuminates one
lone
desk

There I am.

Working intently.

Your music on repeat.

Like a funky hug.

I know you don’t smoke
But I picture you
bopping in the empty aisles
A groovy shuffle
Almost forgetful and half-hearted,
cigarette hanging from your lips
dangerously close to dropping any
second

Don’t worry, your dancing is totally
manly and cool.
not gay.
Very Tyler Durden.
Your shirt is off
Your jeans hang low
And you are completely captured
by the music
Ignoring why you came here.

From time to time
I look up from my computer
to watch you.

But there's only cigarette smoke
and the song that keeps playing