Subliminal-Arts

                    II The walk to my apartment (that normally took about ten minutes) took a good twenty with the panting kid behind me. The three flights of stairs took even longer. I could hear him behind me, gasping by the time we got to my floor. “Why don’t you sit down?” I asked. He nodded, and sat on the top step. He rested his head on the banister and closed his eyes. “D’you want to tell me what happened?” “My name’s not Jon,” he panted. I sat down next to him. “I know.” I didn’t blame him for lying. I’d have done the same thing. I tried not to look at him. I already

I’ve been told before that I’m handsome. I don’t really believe the person who told me (he said it so often), but I suppose I have my moments. Occasionally I go back down to the coffee shop on State Street where I found him. I catch a couple eyes, get a couple numbers. I never call. Some days the light falls through the blinds and I can see the dust floating in the air. I always sit in the same seat, and I always drink the same thing. I ask the shop keep to brew me a cup in the morning, and I drink it at night. Old, cold, and black. The way coffee should be. And so I sit there, sometimes with a book, more often watching the peo