Music & Coffee

I heard it in the morning.  I heard familiar sounds that I loved and new sounds that I loved as soon as they surprised my ears.  The music was loud. So loud!  I opened my window.  Where was it coming from? Where oh where are you coming from?  It was a lazy Sunday - but suddenly I had to find where the music was coming from. 

I threw on my charcoal scarf and slipped on my bright orange gloves and rushed out the door.  Oh, and I put some lipstick on too.   I had a feeling, I guess.  Anyway. I rushed down stairs and pushed through the double front doors.  The cold hit me hard, but not as hard as the music.  It was still there in the air at war with the cold— and it was winning.  I walked towards the sounds.  The echoes off of the buildings along the street mixed up the sounds, and for a few moments, I thought I had lost you.

A window.  Wide open.  That’s where you were coming from.  With the habit of having no expectation, I stood in front of the apartment and leaned up against one of the brick pillars out front.  I just wanted to enjoy it.  Moment for moment, note for note. This music was my morning.  After ten minutes—maybe ten hours—who knows? A face poked out from the window.  Your eyes were sharp.  

“Hi there,” you waved.  

I waved back.  I knew you wouldn’t be able to hear me.  You must have known too, because you went back inside and the music lowered a great amount.  You poked your head out again.

“Hi there,” you said again.

“Hi.  I think I like your music!” I called out.

“Do you?”

I nodded.

“I think I like you.”

I blushed.

“What are you doing today?”

“I don’t know.”

“Hold on.”

Three minutes later, you walked out of the front door of your building.  You were wrapped up in a scarf and a giant coat.  Your hair was undone, unglued, uncared for, but it stood on its own rather fashionably.

“Nice to meet you,” you said.

“You too.”

“My name’s Tommy.” 

“I’m Jade.”

“…Are you from around here?”

“I live in the next building.”

“You’re from out west, aren’t you?”

“Yes…Are you?”

“Fuck no.  I was born on 23rd Street.”

“Oh.”

“Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

“Okay.”

“You’re cute.  You know that?”

“Thanks.”

“But stop staring at me like that.  Makes me nervous.”

“Sorry.  I just like to.”

A kiss for shame

"Bittersweet" by Archis