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The thick smoke found refuge on the surface of her cheek in the wake of gravity propelled teardrops that have forgotten why they were before they reached the overpriced lapel of her jacket designed by someone important last week to everyone who is someone, but currently unknown to all. If words were weapons, his were razor sharp with unerring aim… stopping long enough at each closet’s skeleton to drag them along and courier them straight into her heart. The soft jazz danced in and out of the serene forest surrounding the clearing hosting the battle as it unfolded. Excuses were made to powder noses and heed mother nature’s call by those in proximity to avoid shrapnel and collateral damage. The music didn’t mind the attrition. She gasped for breath, calculating her next move, and he braced himself behind a raised tumbler strengthened by the last drop of single malt rolling across it’s lip to his. No words were further spoken. The skin of her cheek pulled tightly as the wet skin dried beneath the vent above their table. He was gathering his coat and throwing loose bills amidst plates holding their partially eaten meal and tealight candle votives that too no longer remembered why they burned. It was too late for anything but silence. The music played on in the void. She felt everything… she felt nothing.