under an august moon

"what have you been doing to yourself?" she asked as we lay in bed. I took a long drag from my cigarette, then stamped it out in the ashtray on the floor. The smoke hung over us like a black cloud, slowly rolling around, waiting to pour down.
"I've just been doing what it takes to get through the night," I replied, still staring at the cloud.
My pants and shirt were tossed to the side of the room. I stood up, and steadied myself. My head was throbbing, my vision unfocused. I picked up my pants first and stumbled into them. Then my shirt, buttoning it up, leaving it untucked. The tie was still hanging around the collar, but I didn't bother to fix it.
She stared at me from the bed, her bare chest painted a light hue of orange from the dreary neon glow through the off-white curtains.
"You're leaving?" she asked, reaching for a cigarette. I nodded, and looked for my socks.
"Have you seen my socks?" I asked, looking around in circles.
"You're still wearing them." she pointed out. I looked down, and sure enough, there were my socks. On my feet.
"Your shoes are in the living room" she added, turning onto her side, her back facing me now. I stared at the gentle lines that her shoulder blades formed. I always loved that part of a woman's body. The soft turn of the bone, the shadows that hid under it's protection. The smoke of her cigarette rose up across the curtains, dancing with the flickering neon light. She pushed her hair back some and looked over her shoulder at my general direction.
"I thought you were leaving?" she asked coldly. I just turned away and walked out of the bedroom. Moments like this never turned out good. Conversation would lead to discoveries, and then you either never wanted to talk to each other again or you fell in love. Both results seemed disasterous. I left them in the air and went to collect my shoes.

I took the back alleys to avoid the congestion and noise of the city. After a 20 minute walk, I opened the dark wood and glass door to the jazz bar and a Clifford Brown song greeted me, pulling me into the dimly lit room like an escaltor going down to the bottom of my heart.