INT. CROWDED RESTAURANT - NIGHT

JOHN and JILL, two well dressed, impeccably kept, and relatively
attractive professionals in their mid-40s, sit across from each other
in an upscale RESTAURANT. The restaurant, though crowded, is oddly
quiet giving the illusion that every person in the venue is bored and
boring. There is an obvious lack of music or cheer. We hear clinking
utensils, and that is all.

JOHN
I'm a loan business unit administration
assistant's assistant corporate engineer
trainer in training.

JILL
Hummmm.

JOHN
Uh hum....

JILL
I do a lot of volunteer work.

JOHN

I’m in the subway in New York city and it’s rush hour. I’m in a torture chamber. I’m crammed between a mans slimy perspiring arm pit, a woman with a stroller and an older lady who keeps looking over at me and saying...

"Don’t fucking touch me, bitch."

...every time the train slows or jolts and I accidentally brush her sleeve with mine. I’m trying to ignore her. I’m trying to be calm. I’m trying really, really hard. I’m concentrating on my shoes, the logo on some guys shirt, a billboard advertising English lessons...

"Next stop is 103th st. stand clear of closing doors please."...

I brush against the angry women’s arm as the train takes off and she gives me the kind of look one might give to a person they were about to destroy...

"If you fucking touch me again, I’m gonna scream. I fucking mean it, you stupid white ho"...

"Sorry."...

is what I say, although what I really want to say is...

The Artist
By
Eugenia Borkowski

My life as an artist started and ended with a lack of trying. I was in second grade and was of the variety of children who discovered at a young age that ambivalence and a lack of interest, in the long run, got your more attention. My art teacher, Abigail, contacted my mother at home to inform her of my budding artistic gift.

"Abigail thinks you're the next Michelangelo",my mother said, proudly dusting a ball of clay painted yellow with the word mice misspelled in black magic marker around the base, "She thinks your work is sharp and riveting."

I wish I had some chamomile clarity
crystallizes sincerity
to hope around with merrily
the fair always get their heads chopped off
as they wait for the re-birth of earth words
It's laughable to think that freedom rings
from your finger snapping crescendo's
boy, you'd be better off without

dropping your heavy legs against the low down
hiss hum
of an autumn drum
beating against the beat of your stumbling rhythm
I will beat you till your sense come back
arms splayed--begging for reconciliation
I pause to push my nose aginst you
precious glass you are

no, not you Medusa with you head filled with snarled recoil
though i suppose you too have had haystack rendezvous
flipping past bird's eye view
until the snowflakes fall backwards
and you shiver at the very thought of dew drenched to the bone
calling for mommy to please come back home
when will we learn that sputtering glossy centerfolds taste just as good
when we're alone