werewolf johnny rook walked out the door and into the night. his mother raised her head slowly, as if he was a bird flying in the distance, and then sunk it again into stillness as if she wished to be a painting. he jogged down the stairs, and took a deep breath. the streetlights went on like ven diagrams that never quite touched. he walked out of his dark street, and past a late night chinese food eatery. one person was sitting at the counter slowly eating. he loved seeing that. you could live your whole life being seen only by the eyes who are paid not to look at you. a single person could walk in and receive things he never could before. he could put his money down, walk out alone, go home and watch the television. and there was something romantic about it, as if it made you god. he took the familiar left on the way to kira's house, and wondered what girl was waiting in some other window to the right. he wanted kira though, he wanted someone who knew his failures. she had seen him rage, but she had also see him sulk and cower like her father. she had seen him when he was bruised in the first fight his gang had been in, because the impasse of another person was the same to him in self defense as it was in hello. and he knew somewhere deep in his heart, just by something in the way the man at that counter was sitting, was almost conversing with his chinese food, that if he were to walk into that restaurant and punch the man as hard as he could and then wait, that nothing would happen. the man might sit there, or attempt to make eye contact, or run to the bathroom clutching his chopsticks. then he'd go home later with leftovers, and watch some old movie on the tv, and pretend the voices were distangling it for him, uncrushing his world. but there'd be no sense to make of it. johnny saw cars drive by on a cross street, their noise soft, loud, soft. a bum in an alley stood their looking down, and yelling at what appeared to be the ground. perhaps there were micro gods in the sparkling broken glass or the concrete, but it looked to johnny like nothing. it seemed people would rather find meaning in nothing, than mean nothing. he reached her window and she was practicing piano as usual. it was the type of noise you had to already know was there to find and like many things like that, there was a selfish beauty to it. he was going to throw the smallest gravel he could find like usual up at her window, but he thought he'd do something different. with little thought, he howled, softly and lilting. she came to the curtain and looked at him as if he was a strange sound long after she probably had recognized him. it's strange, but on this street at night, most people probably didn't think much of it. for her part, kira didn't look surprised. she smiled briefly from her window, and closed the curtain. he heard a light note and then a heavy note and seconds later, the door opened and she walked out quietly and gingerly with eyes wide, as if protecting something nocturnal and coveted, some hunting ground, some nest, some journey. it was if she was entrusted with a secret that many before her had guarded with their lives. and when they kissed, they felt surrounded by dreams. 030930
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