I'm beginning to like the taste
She sits on her back with her legs draped around the back of the old, velvet theater chair. She hangs her head off the seat and lets her hair dangle and fall against the disgusting, sticky, stepped-on, popcorn and bubble-gum infested floor. She takes a breath, the first one ever that really counts, and looks up at the beautifully horrible caved-in-upwards ceiling. She tries not to think about the crowd that will fill the room in less than an hour. No, she is beginning to like the taste of silence.
Her shirt slowly slides off her stomach, and when it gets past her belly-button, she pushes it back up and holds it there.
Her cell phone rings and she answers it upside down.
Before she even says hello, "I'm on my way home, Baby! I'm driving back up from Florida," he says.
"Super," she mutters.
"Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow. Yep, I'm driving straight through the night. I'm not even gonna stop to piss. I've been missing you so so so so..."
She breaks the connection and stands up. She levels herself during the headrush and then walks down the thin aisle until she reaches the carpeted, scarlet-lit walkway.
"Jesus-fuck!" she yells. Just when she was beginning to like the taste of silence...