Conversations

Lights and laughter
Skim the brick
As a lone sax saturates
An air that is thick
With past to present
The old to new
Woefully blending
Red and blue

Scratched into a napkin on one of those white plastic tables. They were having fun, relaxing to an Alanis cover in an outdoor alcove of the club in old town Saint Louis. The conference went well. Yet, even after a few, the two continued flipchart, water picture discussion. “Special…ability, dis.” Interrupted by,
“What are two pretties like you doing without a drink?”
Kicking under the table, fingers flew in beautiful silent sign language:
“Of course they don’t know what we’re saying…donkeys grow on trees…”
“Oh, s o r r y”, loudly and animated as they slowly backed away, as if deaf is contagious.
Safe from earshot:
“Not even, where were we…was that appropriate? ”
“We’ll run it by confidential name, (used to be “consumer”), when we get back, she’ll get a laugh out of that.”

They were quiet over the bricks to meet the interstate and cross, somehow, now not as dexterous. Neither felt like the challenge or agency funded hotel rooms. One got lost in a book store and the one with the pen found the melancholy saxophone that had been talking softly in the distance all night.

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