the guys are sitting
sipping their cappuccinos
at the industrial chic cafe
hoping to meet a pair
of industrial chicks.
they sit on a well worn
bauhaus knockoff
with a view of the door
and debate whether
history is a see-saw
or a roller coaster.
they soon exhaust every carnival
and merry-go-round metaphor
that they can think of until
all the wit dribbles away
and their conversation resorts
to wars and weather reports.
they reach for their phones.
jason sends a link to timothy
of some hellish dashcam video
from some dreary anonymous city
in siberia and timothy responds
with the latest viral celebrity
privacy invasion.
they decide that what they really need
are a couple of personal drones.
equipped with all the latest
recording tech, totally hi-def, dude.
with high speed wifi up the wazoo.
their ticket to a million views.
transforming click bait into chick bait.
caught up in the business model
they're sketching on their napkins,
they fail to notice the two girls
who have set up at the adjoining table.
heather says to julie,
i like the one in the left
and julie says to heather
you can have him, i approve.
so she tries to catch his eye,
but timothy is madly pecking,
already speccing the italian
sports bike he intends to buy.
julie goes for a bolder ploy
breaks off a piece of cranberry scone
and lobs it in jason's direction.
it bounces off his goateed chin
and drops into his cappuccino.
hey, she smirks, what are you
waiting for, an evite? or are
you just into selfies?
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