You were talking to someone sitting opposite you, on the other side of the table. There were a lot of exciting things you had to say. Your mind was very crowded. Very busy. You talked about the past as you waved a hand over your shoulder. You talked about the present as you pointed your finger across the table. You put your hand through your hair when a whisper of weariness blew over you, and poured yourself another glass of wine. Every now and again, you paused and smiled, lit another cigarette and listened carefully to what he had to say.
Only there was no he.
There was no one.
Not a soul sitting opposite you.
Whoever it was had left years ago.
