He puts down the cloth and wipes his hands on his thighs and realizes he's now alone in the bar. He can recount every move the woman made in the bar in the last hour. He was watching her, but somehow it felt that she was watching him. Nothing happened; how it should be. He wipes up some of the beer and kneels down to pick up the envelope. We were observers at an observatory where we stood with undivided attention. It was cold, but we shared a bottle. And it helped - warm in an unexpected snow. A range of dark figures we might know, regarding, and chewing on the words, each of us both the watcher and the watched. There, in the shadow of the hand, we witnessed the graphite shift in lights and darks, until The Idea was revealed to us. Unknowingly becoming renters ourselves. He coughs and stares at the beer that's since turned sticky on the floor. He sits on his feet, With both hands on his knees, on the floor, next to the table where she sat, his thoughts a mercurial grey. This oblong void hangs in his mind like a skyscraper His brow is stitched together in fear, the sweat now running down his nose. His eyes look through the floor and onto the other side of this moment. He tries to imagine himself there but can't.
He read the contents of the envelope six hours ago.