Hell hath no fury

The stone tables at In-n-out below the ten freeway are a fractured mess of polished brown corrugated granite
With my forearms sprawled across it's surface I could feel loose salt granules sticking to my skin
The air was thick and warm
That December was nothing like this one

We sat round the stone table as friends who'd spent some time apart
Like former lovers trying to find that old spark
For once, their eyes fixated on me as I embellished the story of my lost summer
I think it fooled all but her

Of course the one I wanted most to pick up where we'd left off was she who seemed to barely notice I'd come back
(I wonder if I ever really did)
Her neck struggled to turn a complete 180 as she seemed compelled to look anywhere than at my face
At this point all I wanted was a smile
Something to break the monotony of her distracted demeanor

But she wouldn't lend it to me
I'll never know why it happened that way
But we were always closer on paper
There was something safe about that ink and bleached pulp barrier

Even now the dirty tables outside of In-n-out are a terrible reminder
And no amount of damp rags or rainy nights could cleanse them

Because I still feel the loose salt pitting my arms when I think of her ignoring me