Interlude, part deux

The car passes. The rain begins again. I pull up the collar of my raincoat and turn the brim of my hat down, trying to insulate myself against the chill of the evening. Did she forget? Am I on the right corner, or was it the next street over? Perhaps she agreed to meet just to get me off the phone and out of her life. Again. Damn.

Another drag on the cigarette, the smoke clinging around me like a blanket. No breeze.

Headlights approach. I lower my head and peer from under the edge of my hat, not wanting to look anxious to see her. The car passes. I pull the last drag from my cigarette and flick it into the street. Maybe this was all wrong. Maybe I shouldn’t have called her. Maybe…maybe.
Maybe I shouldn't have become an astronaut. Maybe the bullfighting thing was all wrong. Maybe, just maybe, training mice to be disc jockeys wasn't a good idea. I can admit that now. I've grown.

I lean back against my lamppost and wait.

And now for a little nachtmusik, thanks to Mr. Sondheim*

Isn't it rich?
Are we a pair?
Me here at last on the ground,
You in mid-air.
Send in the clowns.

Isn't it bliss?
Don't you approve?
One who keeps tearing around,
One who can't move.
Where are the clowns?
Send in the clowns.

Just when I'd stopped
Opening doors,
Finally knowing
The one that I wanted was yours,
Making my entrance again
With my usual flair,
Sure of my lines,
No one is there.

Don't you love farce?
My fault, I fear.
I thought that you'd want what I want - 
Sorry, my dear.
But where are the clowns?
There ought to be clowns.
Quick, send in the clowns.

 What a surprise.
Who could foresee
I'd come to feel about you 
What you'd felt about me?
Why only now when i see 
That you'd drifted away?
What a surprise.
What a cliché.

Isn't it rich?
Isn't it queer?
Losing my timing this late
In my career?
And where are the clowns?
Quick, send in the clowns.
Don't bother- they're here.
*Best version: Barbra Streisand.

And now, an interlude for the audience. Popcorn will be served in the lobby.

The air hangs thick and still in the cool night. No breeze. The rain stopped an hour ago, leaving the streets and sidewalks with a shimmer that is lit by no moon, only streetlights in the quiet city. I lean on my lamppost and pull a slow drag from my cigarette as I watch the headlights of an approaching car climb the hill. Is that her?

Today

I'm getting really annoyed.