She’s a red dress and thick rimmed glasses and all sorts of wit and intelligence in conversation. Next to her is a man that’s just a little more dim witted and a flannel shirt that was pressed just slightly too recently. And all around them are duplicates; replicants- people that are acquaintances or soon to be fair weather friends. All around them are life paths that they were one butterfly away from taking.
The woman in the red dress is yawning now- opening her mouth so wide people near her can see the fills in her molars- but she doesn’t yawn consciously. She is uncouth without even giving a thought to it.
She is feeling tired. More importantly, she’s feeling hungry- trying to eat in all the air that is around to prove to herself that her heart still beats and it’s not all just a dream.
Among all of the people by the bar there is color- various colors- some bright, some subdued and pastel. The coloring of their clothing tell stories that are alike in their uniqueness.
She lays one hand on the bar and shakes her head.
He looks at her, concerned, and asks what’s wrong.
“Nothing,” she lies.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“Yes. Let’s dance.”
She takes his hand out of his pocket, lifts him away from the bar, and they sway back and forth, back and forth, until all the notes blend into one beat. Until she can create the illusion of perfect harmony.