In the evening I sit and watch her dance to a song I cant hear on the radio.

I assume it’s the radio because I see her turning a dial this way and that, and I hum to myself the song that I think she is singing.

She has curly dark hair and it bobs along with her, in one swift motion, each strand attached to the other and clinging, so that her face never disappears from view no matter how her head shakes.

She wears crochet bikini tops, I never understood the purpose of those, they can never get wet.

She has lovers that come through sometimes in the evenings, and she asks them to dance with her before taking them to her bedroom.

Sometimes they do, awkwardly, looking stiff and board-like as they placate her movement, or they sometimes simply refuse outright.

She always leaves the window open, and I have this theory It’s because she is actually quite lonely, and she hopes that someone will see her, and be moved to come save her from dancing alone in the kitchen to the radio.

A Short Conversation is a collection of stories, thoughts, and general musing. I like to write like I'm slamming a door; loudly, and with purpose.

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