Now everyones still and quiet. The one hes closest to looks at him like shes studyin. She makes a face like shes fished out his meaning well enough, but isnt sure whatspose to be done with it. She dassent have any beans.
He points at them again, at the not enough beans. They look like not beans. Most of the time, theyre on their own and even when in large groups, they never do count for much. The pointing makes them seem so more grim and dire. Like the grave too is all their fault.
Nobody looks though, at the not beans. His eyes are where everyone’s focus. Little black ones that glare and accuse and level the entire room, til every body present begins to feelin tight breathed and guilty. Finally, the one closest, she speaks to him.
Could be not, she says and waits, Could be.
And him, Just not.
And her, Enough for what?
Then nothing happens.
A finger droops and retreats to the corner, little black beans in tow. A woman is left standing near a table, the loudest voice in a room full of talk and people.