big man

Big man puts a cup of of coffee on the table.
Very careful.
Not to spoil any of it on the table.
Very very careful.
Big man has a smartphone.
As most people do.
Careful. Careful.
Studies the screen of the thing he got in his big leftfoot.
Enlightment.
He gets to the cup of coffee.
Takes it with his big left hand. As big as the other. Touches the screen of the thing.
Takes it with swift, delicate touches.
A woman enters the room.
Apart from her skin and hair she's entirely black.
The big guy gets up. They touch and kiss each other, walk out.

A young man, the man without a name, reads a book.
Some time ago, a couple of days ago, I watched him in a local art house telling stories to people in front of one of the paintings.

A black man in slick trousers enters, white socks, heavy shoes, his smart as a gun righthanded, and orders a beer.
Later he sits in front of a silver-topped laptop.

The girl with nice little red shoes shifts her mouth to a more or less identical color. Unknown, nameless people walk on both sides of the abyss.
Somewhere halfway the intersection nothing happens. Two people look at each other and keep on walking.
At the bottom of an uncertain moment.

One more laptop poops up.

I take to the newspaper. The blue fades. A street in delicate nightware.