Ways to Postpone Things

We’re sitting in the dead centre of the auditorium, the only people left. The cleaners are swirling around us, vacuums and dust pans tracing old paths across the floor. The carpet is faded, worn away, I notice. Friction from repeated use, my mind supplies. I can bring up the image too easily, someone scuffing their foot over the spot. Dozens of someones, really. Impatient or bored or excited or nervous. Your eyes are closed, blotting out the world, and I’m silent, as if the absence of my voice makes a difference to the screaming vacuum. So far we have postponed the argument, but the last cleaner is waiting impatiently to lock up, keys dangling off a finger. We get up, and you don’t reach to take my hand. There’s nothing left, no new way to put this discussi...

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