15 minutes of what?

sometimes i move slowly because i know you won't notice. i guess it's something that i want to try to get away with. when i was little, i would count the pennies that fell to the floor around my parents dresser. one time, there was 32 underneath their shoes alone.
when it's cold out, i miss you. i want to watch as the summer peels itself off the tree branches and slides down to the wet concrete. you would be walking there - holding a bouquet of flowers. see - i don't know you. i just know that you live next door, and don't have much to do on wednesday nights. i can hear the reality tv shows blaring in my kitchen. if i squint i can feel your breath on my neck when you get up to pour yourself another glass of wine.
it's too dark here and everyone falls into their own silent circles. but when it's that dark - my hands fly up. a sort of secretive hawk mission. you would just hear the inflection in my wrists. maybe a bone or two cracking.
mary got up and dusted the top of the dresser off with a wet paper towel. why hadn't she done this earlier? she would just stare at the top of that surface every morning, laden with dust - and wonder where it came from. next, she opened the door the bathroom. she inspected the hinges. they looked rusty but they barely made any noise. every morning she would think, those hinges look rusty. but today, she took out her screwdriver and took them off slowly. not having anything to replace them with - she propped the door against the wall.

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