…so Rage and Sorrow walk into this café, right? They walk in, sit down in a comfy orang booth, lean back (one across from the other) and sit quietly until the waitress comes over to take their order.

“Are you here?” she asks them. They look up at her blankly.

“Guess so then,” she continues, smacking her gum loudly, purple eye shadow at least three fourths an inch thick shimmering down on the two fellows who don’t know what to make of this strange spandex’d woman.

“What’ll it be then?” she asks, resting half a hip on their table.

Coffee,” replies Rage.

“Coffee,” replies Sorrow.

Gotcha,” says the waitress, who scribbles on her pad and walks away.

Time passes. One, two, three cups of coffee are drained. Refilled and drained. A pack of cigarettes goes from full to half full as the two sit at the oblong table, sipping and staring. They don’t stare at each other, but they don’t avoid each other’s glances either. They leak blue puffs of smoke between deliberate gulps of burnt black brew.

At one point, Sorrow sniffs. It’s not a pouty sniff, just a something-in-the-nose-needs-to-be-rearranged sniff. But still, it’s enough to make Rage glower at him for a minute or two. Maybe it would surprise you to hear that Sorrow looked right back at Rage, square in the eyes, and didn’t shake or cry or let on anything. A perfect poker face. He even wiggled his nose, and winked when Rage couldn’t hold back a small blush.

“You know what I hate?” asked Rage, clinching his teeth and obviously changing the subject.

“What?” asked Sorrow, who was beginning to hunch over, as if he suddenly remembered why he was so sad.

“I hate it when I go head hunting… and I can’t find a head.”

The words floated between the two, taking on a presence thicker, heavier than the smoke twirling around them.

“Well, you know what I hate?” asked Sorrow, his eyes glassing over.

“Hu?” prompted Rage.

“I hate it when I go soul searching…” gulp, puff, sigh, “…and I can’t find a soul.”

“That’ll be a two-fifty for the both of you,” says the waitress, slapping down the bill between them. “Unless you want anything else…?”

“Just another cup’ll do us fine,” replies Rage, sliding the bill towards himself and searching through his pockets for some change.


Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.