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Hunger

I am sitting on the edge of one of the back chairs of the department, hearing the rain fall relentlessly on the roof, on the road, on people. Millions of drops fall along the HOds car, washing away the filth but never the filth it has gathered over the years. I am tired, hungry. I imagine myself stubbornly waging through the rain to the cafeteria.
You are sitting next to me, flipping through the selfies you have just taken on my phone. So concerned with your image in the photo that it seems you have forgotten I'm here. You edit them, filtering, cropping, collageing, trying to appear more than you are. I want to tell you you are absolutely stunning in the unedited photos, to tell you that your eyes are round and bold and beautiful like the full moon. But I don't, it'll be useless, I think so and I let you remain, not going beyond your 'don't you have instasquare? Or that editing app' questions. I'd mutter something  even I don't hear and download the app, wishing you showed your emotions on your face.
I look around for the other girl, the one who has asked me several times to come talk with her. The one I can't seem to get my mind off. She is in the far distance in the hands of yet another guy. I sigh.
She is like the traffic light on a busy highway, glaring a bold green light yet I do not make a move. Maybe because I'm afraid that there were bigger cars around the bend that didn't respect traffic lights and would crash into me as soon as I moved my ruddy, uninteresting Toyota or because I'm uncertain the light is green. Our eyes meet and she smiles, that smile that often skips my heart, I look away first, I always do because I do not want her to see the jealousy in my heart through the window of my eyes.
You put your hands round my shoulder and lay your head on me. I look to see that you are editing the photo of us. Suddenly I am no longer hungry.

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