/lit/ - Literature

We sat in the diner still smelling like the cigars that still lay smoldering upon the mountain in the rubbish bin. As had become tradition we spoke as sincerely as we could muster averting ours eyes only for hurried sips of scalding coffee. Topics grew, died, and were reborn without rhythm. That was the beat itself. The intimacy was shattered when she sat down. Although she was no stranger to us, she was alien to the conversation. Attempting to save the essence of the moment we continued our discussion of post-ironic culture. She couldn’t tell if the conversation was serious or a joke. And though we all laughed, she laughed alone.