Small

A man with a thick accent bums a smoke.

“Do you believe in god?”

So much for the small talk.

A child is crying while the prize machine entices like a casino of soft dreams.

It’s hot outside,

sticky even.

The cries are softer now, the man

sitting next to me gets up to get coffee as the

wheels from his bag

tap, clicking every few feet.

We are looking at the clock for relief, sitting silently,

or playing with anything to be out

of

here.