The city background had faded to aqua blue, but street lamps were still ablaze with light. His little red cigarette had burned with a temper for minutes without ever leaving his hand or waist. An eager stream of rainwater twisted its way down along the cobbled street, between each stone and merrily around his brown Oxfords. He flicked at whatever water had gathered and watched as the flying tail of stream whipped the streets onrushing glisten and disappeared for good.
He tried to see could his eyes follow what flew.
He flicked at the surrounding water again and immediately lost sight. Gathering some spit, he swished it and laid it upon his tongue. Curling his tongue to gather the spit whole, he brought it forward to part his lips and catapulted – what once sat in his mouth – up and onto the street. He followed this bubbly glob for maybe three seconds, but that disappeared, too. The man straightened his lilac tie, looked again at everything that would disappear, the world and its edge, stepped inside, and called her.