The story wasn’t over yet but you sat there at intermission stirring in your seat, waiting; and the next morning you really began to worry. I giggled watching you squirm there, you looked like Baudelaire in ennui. I pointed you out to the fellas and even the young girls had a laugh. You kept looking for it anyway, like a pet who’s lost its chew toy, underneath the furniture you crept and struggled to no avail.
Sit and wait, you fool, for the story to continue, like the crack of dawn it will come. Patience, my pet, patience—be calm and it will come but if you sit there stirring the cube of ice in your drink, worrying about whether or not it will return, you will be wasted and there will be nothing left for it’s return—
relax and let that spirit recollect, don’t be a fool. Take off your shoes
and enjoy a goddamned pretzel because
if you’re durable enough, if you’ve waited, trust me, This is what I know of faith. The attraction will resume, you’ll see.