The screen is a flat unlit wall

The screen is a flat, unlit wall.

I’m hiding in row J, where the light doesn't reach

and nobody expects me to have a plan.

The red velvet of the chair is damp,

soaking up the salt and heat of a hundred backs

who sat here waiting for a different story.

I dropped a kernel and reached down,

my hand sweeping the sticky floor.

My fingers brushed something cold and gummy—

old candy or a discarded hope—

and I didn't pull away.

In this cave, we all touch the same filth

and call it a night out.