blue
He sat there in the darkness, before a dying AC. the compressor was a decade overdue. a cheap electric fan propped up in front of it, to aid its poor circulation, helped evaporate the sweat from his humid, high-friction skin. he could feel her sitting next to him, in silence, her breath out of sync with his own. something drove past outside, the engine a tremolo through the dual fans of their only window. “I hate it here.” she said.
Rain the next day brought back memories of a lake he’d gone to during his childhood. the smell, gasoline and dead fish, and frogs with too many legs, or too little, that could never jump right. Railtram downtown had been out for a month, forcing him to head home on foot, his grey jacket drenched with rain warm as piss.
Something caught his eye, under abandoned signs, into his flooded alleyway next to what was once a row of noodle stands. he held it in his palm, and spat. “tram token. lucky day.”
On the landing two flights down, he knew she was gone. something in the air. thick. the layers of wet peeling paint on the walls, and the slapback echo of his boots on the damp concrete.
And he wasn’t at all surprised to find a post-it waiting for him, centered on the scarred fridge door. there were several failed attempts in the trash. crumpled yellow, still moist.
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