A jukebox. Records scared

with scratches twists songs

for a dime. Wallpaper stares

over stained floors. Voices speak

coffee. Forks curl through

pie and meat loaf.

A screen door. Green.

Marked with the oil of hands.

Hinges squeak. Flies wrestle for freedom

on a windowsill. A song drifts homelessly.

Heads nod. A finger taps. Grease spatters.

Toast with butter. People in and out.

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