Abhay
Black clouds
Bathed in the pale moonlight
City crowds
Obscured in a hazy mist
The jumbled sounds
A vibrant but distant declaration of life
Pan to a building
Zoom to a window
Peer inside
A shabby office, in disarray
A crooked sign, “private eye”
A slouched man, looks at home
In walks a bottle blonde
Obviously out of place
Though she tries to hide it
She speaks
Telling a tale both shocking and uncannily familiar
He stands
Lighting a cigar as he saunters to the window
“Please, you have to help me,” she says
“No one else can”
I should walk away, he thinks
These things never end well
But you know how the story goes
He can’t resist the case
And she can’t resist her tragic fate
Like all good stories
This one’s been told to death
They’re just playing out their part
He offers her a drag
As the first drops of rain fall
They contemplate their roles
Taking the same actions
Making the same choices
On repeat for eternity
Or…until someone hits stop
