False laugh, high pitched and foreign skating
on the air.
The music throbbed with numbing anxiety,
and she ignored it, or at least tried to.
Mindless, popular, obnoxious music.
Jukebox, overpriced, devouring quarters.
Her friends fed dollar after dollar into its' gaping maw.
Song after song.
Expectant looks and the question of why *she* didn't offer to pay.
But she was silent, sipping bitter drinks at the bar,
lips etching a thin, bloodless parody of a smile.
"Good song," she commented,
legs perched precariously on the edge of the stool,
laughing all the while.