Thirtysomething1987

Michael Steadman:
[narrating] People drifted through his field of vision like lost, soulless leaves. The sounds of their shoes on the checkerboard tiles was like the dragging of monks' sandals. He singled her out mid motion. No, no, no, no... the coffee shop was empty except for her. She wore her ennui the way lesser women wore diamonds. Her dress was the iridescent black of raven's wings. No, no, no it wasn't! Her dress reminded him of rich, summer burgundy, port, sangria... Jeez! Her frock was the color of polished emeralds. As opposed to what? Unpolished emeralds? He approached the woman in the blue dress. Their eyes met. And they folded themselves into the waiting leather of the booth. The rain in the window streaked a pattern along her face... no, no, no, no, no... the sun through the window bleached... no, no, no, no... neon blinked beyond the window at her side.

Michael Steadman:
[as Harrison] Nice dress.

Michael Steadman:
He said.

Nancy Krieger Weston:
[as Woman In The Blue Dress] I'm in mourning.

Michael Steadman:
She replied.

Michael Steadman:
[as Harrison] For what?

Nancy Krieger Weston:
For life?

Michael Steadman:
[narrating] Sorrow went about her like a wet chamois.

Nancy Krieger Weston:
What's the point?

Michael Steadman:
She asked the air.

Nancy Krieger Weston:
We move through life, trapped by time and events, our empty days piling up like discarded socks in God's hamper.

Michael Steadman:
She was depressed.