A man walks across the street. He had a long day at work and thought that he both wanted a beer, and deserved it. The man walks into a bar. The game is playing above his swaying stool. To his right, a familiar clink echoes across the row of bottom shelf glass bottles and he turns his head to find an old friend. The man talks to his old friend while they each order another round. They continue talking still while they order third and fourth rounds. The game ends but their conversation doesn’t. They order one more round before agreeing to close out. The man asks his friend if he is driving, to which the friend replies no, he has a ride. The friend returns the question and, hesitantly, the man hangs his head and admits he is driving. He walks out of the bar and smokes a cigarette on the splintered sidewalk. It is cold enough outside for him to wish he wore a second jacket. In its place, he takes a second stick from the box and is warmed almost to the point of fever by the tobacco. He walks back across the street.
Above him, the black cloud yields not.
A woman walks across the street. It’s evening time, and she can see her breath walking in front of her to announce her presence like a royal procession. She did not have a long day at work; she doesn’t have a job. She walks across the street in hopes of a solution to this problem. The door jingles as it swings open. A tune that she qualifies as elevator music rings from the tile ceiling. She fidgets with the bottom of her skirt as she waits in the chair to be called. It’s much too cold for a skirt, but money is tight and she has not been able to make it to the laundromat. She has sacrificed practicality for a pleasant smell this evening. She is still twisting the threads of her skirt while she sits in front of the desk. Is she currently employed? Does she have reliable transportation? Why does she want to work there? What are those marks at the top of your thighs? Unfortunately, we cannot hire drug addicts. The woman does not have enough emotion left in her body to storm out of the room. Only her hand can tremble as she opens the door. Its jingle mocks her exit. She walks back across the street.
Above her, the black cloud yields not.
The man has a third cigarette in front of his truck. He squints his left eye so that he can aim and darts the cigarette butt through the manhole cover. He feels better. It was a long day at work, but those few beers served him well. He smiles at himself. He remembers he has leftovers at his house–not just cold takeout in the fridge, but leftover beers as well. From last night, of course. He could be in for a good night. Tomorrow’s reaping will not exist without tonight’s sowing. The woman waits at the bus stop. She feels foolish now. If she weren’t so cold, the blood would surely pool in her cheeks as she blushed with embarrassment. How could she have let them see? She hadn’t used in a full forty-eight. She wanted to be sober for the interview. Money is tight and that’s even after she nearly halved how much she was using. Needles and spoons are expensive, but so is existing.
The sky rumbles; the black cloud yields not.
The man finally throws himself into the driver’s seat of his truck. As he does it, he glances at his rearview mirror and sees a scraggly group of people waiting for the bus. He thinks he sees a man inch a little too close to a woman wearing a skirt. It’s much too cold to be wearing a skirt. He wonders what profession she might be in to be dressed such a way in this weather, then shakes his head with guilt for assuming such a thing. He struggles for a moment to slide the key into the ignition, then struggles for a longer minute while trying to jiggle and jangle the key in the right way to get the truck to kick. It’s an old truck. In the cold, it takes a while to get the gears greased.
The woman stands next to three other people. They all seem to be in a shape similar to hers: cold. They look at her warily. She can’t help but feel they’re speculating about her profession, not knowing that she actually wouldn’t mind selling herself for some cash with the way her shoebox-bank is looking now. Just for long enough to get back on her feet, she’d tell herself. The bus finally comes. Its bright yellow orbs illuminate the road. Everyone gathers their bags and shifts onto their toes as they ready to board the bus.
Then it drives past. They look around confused. None are sure why the bus didn’t pick them up; none are sure if there is another one coming. The woman doesn’t care for the answer to either of those two questions. She is cold. She feels ashamed–doubly, now. Her hands hurt from trembling for so long. Her thighs hurt where they call for the needles. She is furious. She runs down the sidewalk, screaming at the bus the entire way. The bus does not slow. She continues to run. Still, the bus does not slow. She runs out onto the street – (the black cloud) – The man backs his truck up. He’s raising his eyebrows without realizing it. He’s trying to manually open a pair of squinting eyelids. There’s a thin layer of moisture on the road where he backs out. It hasn’t rained but it is humid outside. It’s not cold enough to be icy, but it’s still wet. He backs out without a problem. When he shifts into drive, the tires spin – (yields not) – and the wheels catch. The back of his head thuds against the headrest. He feels woozy and wishes he’d smoked a fourth cigarette. The truck is moving along down the road quicker than he realizes. He looks up from the dashboard and sees the woman in a skirt standing in the middle of the road. She is facing the other direction, looking at the back of the bus, and screaming with her fist in the air. He pumps the brakes but it’s an old truck; they take a while to warm up. He isn’t slowing down… He swerves out of the way…
The black cloud yields.
A man and a woman meet at a pizza restaurant. The game is playing but the man drinks water. It is warmer outside and the woman wears a pair of shorts. The scars and marks she was once ashamed of have faded, almost unnoticeable. The parts that remain, she wears like badges of honor. They laugh and hold hands while they exit the restaurant. The man walks across the street. The woman walks with him. // JACKSON RUIZ
