Wed, 21 October

—hand still raised, like he's holding a door open in the telling— —bow tie crooked before he even reaches the room— —water glasses forgotten, rings worn into the cloth— —leaning in past their laptops, past the agenda— —he tells it the way you tell a thing you've decided to love about yourself— —somewhere behind him a glass box empties out, the standup disbands— —the hall keeps the story longer than the minutes ever will