Musical Admirer

Little drops kept hitting the side of the cd player that she had taped to her window so that her parents would finally believe she had an admirer to throw stones and serenade her in smooth jazz. Without consciousness, the wind kept blowing away the leaves that kept up the illusion of an autumn that couldn't be left behind, and the starlight that kept fading until it was nothing more than a guiding way home hinted that it might be morning before anybody intended it to be. Nobody's schedule allowed reverence or experience or leisure alongside all of the terrifyingly young and heart-breakingly old masterpieces that dotted all of the screens in front of every single eye. Her calculator was from another country, but her shoes were made in China by the tiny fingers of tiny children whose tiny salaries couldn't make up for their tiny, tiny dreams. It wasn't anything different than the reciprocity act told her, but it felt a bit heavier than her own nightmares and the karma she thought she had coming.