Distant gunshots rifle that city night—three startling bullwhips thunder. Whirring sirens disturb bistro conversation. Children cover ears; believing sound firecrackers.
“Who cares,” he asked goateed, lip crumbs, disheveled.
“You’re not for anything.” Spectacled blonde knocks back espresso.
“What’s the use?” he asked mock-pleadingly.
“You feel nothing,” blue eyes spoke lamplit with moist sheen.
“Okay,” he snickers.
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