still more straws

We were on the roof, two rounds into the song game. I had the guitar, noodling through the sudden silence.

"How are things?" he asked, looking at me.

I turned my face to the overlapping brownstones sleeping below us. "Fine."

"I don't know why I have such trouble telling people…" He played with the pick in his hand. "I'm moving to Portland"

"oh." My fingers fell silent. "when?"

"September."

Down below, people were walking home. A garden cat darted past into the shadows. Somebody called out to her friend, her laughter floating up into the air where we sat.

"well… congratulations."

"thanks"

"you'll have to tell jen to be cool with me sleeping on your couch when I come to visit," realizing as I said it, that it was never going to happen.

"ok. I will," he said, watching me.

"I mean, it's fine. It's a good decision for you. And I barely see you anymore anyway, so it doesn't really matter." My voice grew thick. I held the guitar to my body and lowered my head, defeated.

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