中場在休息

你會對一個初次見面的陌生人說自己被男（女）朋友甩了嗎？

一對男女來到我面前點餐，女孩點完後，男孩搶著付錢，女孩不悅地說了句：「幹嘛？」

火藥味。隱隱然。

兩人背對著我。用餐。

「可以麻煩你幫我打包嗎？順便給我幾張餐紙？」一抬頭，只見女孩淚眼汪汪。

「小菜太辣了嗎？」邊打包邊詢問掉眼淚的原因。

「我被人甩了。」

「。。。呃，下一個男人會更好。」早知道就不問了，當下除了趕緊再塞給她一疊紙巾，也只能用這麼一句很俗的話來帶過。

那個男孩呢？

仍坐在位子上，面無表情的回看一下女孩。

他們什麼時候離開？

是一起離開？還是就此各走各的路呢？

也許，下次還會見到他或她。 

寫到這裡，我又想起了卜洛克。

Last call 　by Dave Van Ronk

And so we’ve had another night
of poetry and poses,
and each man knows he’ll be alone
when the sacred ginmill closes.

And so we’ll drink the final glass
each to his joy and sorrow
and hope the numbing drink will last
til opening tomorrow.

And when we stumble back again
like paralytic dancers
each knows the question he must ask
and each man knows the answer.

And so we’ll drink the final drink
that cuts the brain in sections
where answers do not signify
and there aren’t any questions.

I broke my heart the other day.
It will mend again tomorrow.
If I’d been drunk when I was born
I’d be ignorant of sorrow.

And so we’ll drink the final toast
that never can be spoken:
Here’s to the heart that is wise enough
to know when it’s better off broken.