The glass is cold. The glass sweats. Water tingles down a bottle. Collecting others in its path. Collecting weight. Rampaging in silence. Tumbling down. Circling water on a table. Ringing.

Square. Black around the edges. Thin and transparent. The light arcs. Stringing trajectories from ships at sea. Green and bright anger. Green and bright longing. Green and bright disgust. Exploding from a deck. Fuel packed and punching.

He drinks a beer. He drinks a beer and gnaws the end of a salami. He drinks a beer and gnaws the end of a salami and thinks about his brother. His brother isn’t over there. His brother isn’t obligated to anything. His brother runs a forklift in a warehouse. He thinks about how his brother drank all but three of his twelve pack.

It is a still shot. Buildings with cupolas. Tops like hats. White against darkness. Night vision shows green but standard film shows orange and yellow and fluming white. Green and orange and yellow and white. And they all hit targets beyond the buildings. Beyond their hats. Beyond the camera’s reach. And up up up goes the smoke and the people and the pointedness.

From so far away points are irrelevant.

Here the beer sweats and water trips down the smooth curve of glass.

 
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