a hundred bodies

and twice as many eyes

all writhing together in a (b)air(ly)-

conditioned room.

sun beating through windows,

an oppressive tirade.

hot. stifling. each breath thick

with discomfort. and yet,

no warmth here.

words are empty,

smiles plastic.

tiring. tiresome.

"how are you?"

and the smallest response,

"good, and you?"

or "not bad," when feeling bold.

but there's barely even time for that,

words blending together into a mumble

as the bodies writhe on,

press forward.

friendship is a nod in a hallway.

empty.

plastic.

but still,

"not bad"