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–Wait, what’s this article ‘bout again?

   He interrupts her mid-word, shaky fingers gripping the tail end of a cigarette as ash drops to the leg of his jeans. The sound of a shoe tapping on hardwood is heard in the cafe – He’s nervous ticks abound.

   Blue eyes flick between the tape recorder between them, and the paper before her as a pen comes to a halt, ink begins to pool in one spot on the sheet. He curses himself inside his head, wishes he could keep his thoughts on track for more than a few minutes.

pulitzerlost

‘   you.   ’   the   woman   watches,   eyes   glazed,   as   the   cigarette   ash   wavers   in   his   grip. she   makes   no   motion   to   hinder   its   fall,   to   prevent   the   sooty   stain   on   the   man’s jeans.   it’s   not   out   of   cruelty,   or   even   fascination,   simply   disinterest.   she’s   going   through   the   motions   at   this   point,   asking   the   questions,   no   attempt   made   to   disguise her   boredom.

‘   are   you   often   distracted?   ’