Coffee shop, cafe music playing, showing ads, buses passing, showing ads. Browsing website showing ads. Rampant consumption and consumerism culture that touts the belief that there is something wrong with you and the only way to fix it is to buy our product. In the sea and filth of consumption, there’s you.
They’re not on their phone, they’re looking at you. Eyes lock in the sea of people, they beckon you over and you accept. You're remoralized by the offer. Crippling isolation and reclusivity pushed away by a genuine connection. You ask their name and what they want and they just smile and say. “You weren't on your phone, want to talk?”
Talk about what, you ask. “Oh anything really. Certainly not everything. There isn't enough time for that.”
Are you real, you ask. “Of course, I’m real, silly”. You tilt your head and cock an eyebrow. How can they be real, you ask yourself. They have eyes only for you, and you can’t keep the eye contact. Your drink sits upon the table and steams into the air. The table for two is completely scuffed and clawed to shit. But only on your side. Why is that, you ask.
“Oh, well. Maybe it's cause they wanted to”
What do you mean they wanted to, you ask. There are no scratches on their side, you point out. They just smile. No answer. Their fangs flash.
“Are you going to drink your drink?” They ask instead. No, you answer. “Why not?” It’s bland. “Why did you order it?” I thought I wanted it. “So you don’t want it?” You're silent for a moment. No, I only thought I wanted it, you answer.
“What do you want then?” They ask, fang elongating. I'm not sure, you say. You're confused. You're shocked. How could you not know, you ask yourself. Everyone else knows, you rationalize. What do I want, you ask.
“Now that's something to talk about?” They answer, their second fang doubling in size. “What do you want?”
You think for three minutes. You find your answer. You let it out. You want to seek pleasure, you want to reduce pain, and you want it to be easy and simple. They grin, canines cracking through molars. “I want that too.” They say.
They morph, claws piercing through nails. They grow, and you look up at them. Their eyes. They never leave yours. You look away. Those eyes make you feel like prey.
“And how do you get all that you want then?” They ask, their paw sets into the table. It's on your side, you see the claws. I don't know, you say. It's hard to know, you say. I just don't know, you say.
“That's okay, I don't either.” They say. They place a second paw to the table. This one is covered in fur. You feel you should be scared. But you're not. You still feel like prey. But you don’t feel threatened.
Their fur grows. They lean over the table. They lean close to you. You can smell them. They smell… good. You sit, they lean closer. You don't flinch. You are not afraid.
“You aren't afraid?” They ask.
I'm not, you answer.
“Why don’t you flee?” They ask.
I don't want to, you answer.
They laugh, their maw cracks open. Their long tongue slides out. They lean closer. Your noses touch.
“You are mighty interesting. I'm glad I got to talk to you.” They say.
Me too, you answer.
They kiss you. You kiss back.
