We're sitting in a darkened room, just me and a girl, someone I've known for a long time. The stereo went quiet a long time ago. The room seems empty, ignoring us. Shadows from the spotlight by the bed. We're sitting on the floor, among the bottles. Light another cigarette, clock ticking. Somewhere outside a cat is crying, like a baby being burnt. Beautiful music.

"Do you remember how it used to be?"

She looks up. I realise she was half-asleep.

"Sure."

I look around at the walls, shadows.

"There were more of us then. You can see their shadows, see. Even though they've never been here. The room seems empty without them."

She shifts slightly, runs her hand through her hair, and says, "Why do you always speak in metaphors? It really annoys me."

"I'm sorry."

She leans back against the wall and yawns. "When I remember those days it all gets blended together. Like being drunk, and I suppose we were most of the time. I remember things that happened, but I can't always remember when. And when I drift, all I remember is laughter."

I take another drag on the cigarette and look out the window at the night sky.

"I always remember it being light then. We used to go the park and just bum around all day. Now you're the only one that's still around, and I hardly ever see you. I'm lonely."

She looks at me, into my eyes. I can't read her gaze. She doesn't speak. Maybe she's wondering what I'm thinking. Maybe she just has nothing to say. Eventually she looks away, reaches for her beer. I stub my cigarette out.

"Tomorrow I'm going to go to the park. I might even buy a frisbee."

She coughs in mid-swig and then looks at me and laughs, soft and gentle. Beautiful music.