copyright Jan Wayne Fields
Stare
Adam stood by his tenth story apartment window and stared at the woman across the road, their gaze locked as tight as lovers’ lips, their expressions as vacant as the honeymoon suite at Hotel Cholera.
Suddenly, two pigeons collided between them. Their beaks locked together and one tried to fly up while the other went down. Back and forth they went, the commotion resembling two mimes having a screaming match in a washing machine.
Adam’s mouth twitched.
His phone buzzed.
“Hello?”
“You smiled.”
“Dang it! How did you not?” He looked away and blinked his tired eyes.
“Another round?”
The Green-Walled Tower 