Written In A Ten Minute Dash

Eugene's voice played with my thoughts as I walked down the street. I was alone in my head, even as the buildings of downtown Los Angeles rose above me, everything filled with people. People-noise that I couldn't hear, people-smells that were sometimes good, sometimes sick, people-heat in varying degrees all around.

I passed up the Chinese-food-and-donut place, the colliding mix of spices and sweet breads a thick cloud hanging over a sidewalk dotted with black spots of bubblegum. Instead, the coffee shop on the corner pulled me in... the fine dust of newly-ground beans tickling my nose, and the more intense heat of people and pots kept bottled up in this glass house. I pulled one of the earbuds away from my head, shutting my MP3 player off, and silencing Eugene for a bit. A lull of jazz replaced the gypsy punk as a soundtrack, carried above the murmuring voices of people.

He was there. I froze... Over in the corner, as my face flushed a painful color and broken glass grated inside my chest. The universe must hear the roar of my blood, but I couldn't look away, for fear he would turn and see me if I did. The sun's light reflected from plate glass across the street to fill the shop with a colder, movie-set light. No, only his side. Mine remained in the regular world, not a part of his. He who was so brilliant, dark wheat hair backlit, and a small slick of spit upon his lower lip shining wetly, something to be devoured by a beautiful woman.

But no longer by me.

Three suited women jostled me as they came in the door. His dark eyes focused in their languid way on me as their movement caught his attention. I could not speak... could not think... I returned to my world, Eugene in my ear and mind, a gypsy running.