Naima plays on the radio. The lamp lets off a dim light of yellowish orange. A beer can acts as an ashtray. Quarter filled bottle of whiskey.

Now Miles is blowing Summertime. I sit in a metal folding chair with a small television in front of me. The screen is blank. It’s been blank for years. Never gets turned on. Just like women I’ve known. Just cold screens offering nothing. No pictures inside of them. Their true colors hidden.

I wonder what’s inside? A picture tube, wires of different colors? A squeaky speaker? It just sits there. They have just sat there. I try to turn the knobs but nothing comes on. Silence.

They’re playing it cool. So cool. Women and television sets. I wonder what’s on? Wild Kingdom? Some soap opera? PBS showing Live From Lincoln Center?

There’s a lot in there. Cable would be a waste.