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.