The tag on your shirt scratches at your back. You wiggle your shoulders to [[scratch|light]] it but nothing helps. You walk past a dozen [[strangers|light]], their faces contorted and unintelligible. Their vioces are echoed [[shouting|light]] and [[laughter|light]] linger in the area, discordant pitch and random volume with a tendency to jump haphazardly; almost challenging you to the impossible task of [[adjusting|light]] your ears to it. \n\nYou [[sit|light]] down at the cafe table outside, [[drinking|light]] your coffee. Head pointed down and eyes glued to your phone. Wind rushes by, causing you to go [[deaf|light]] until it slows down. It then becomes a constant [[whooshing|rain]] in the background of your hearing. A drop of [[rain|light]] hits your [[forearm|light]]. The first sign of the previously forecasted [[storm|light]]. You pick up your [[hot|light]] coffee and move towards the door. A gaggle of college kids [[bump|light]] into you on their way to the cafe. Each of their [[footsteps|light]] a clamorous [[stomp|light]]. Your own carry a [[plastic crinkle]] with it as well as you reenter the cafe behind them. There is no plastic under your shoe but the [[noise|light]] persists. The door [[chimes|light]] with each new individual.\n\nInside, each humming [[light]] is like staring into the sun: blinding bright [[colors|light]] that hurt to glance at, even indirectly. [[Hair|light]] sticks to your forehead, and no matter how hard you try it manages to [[wiggle|light]] back to this default position. Infinite [[conversations|exit]] and various [[coffee machines|exit]] drown out the [[music|exit]] blaring over distorted speakers.

The tag on your shirt scratches at your back. You wiggle your shoulders to [[scratch|plastic crinkle]] it but nothing helps. You walk past a dozen [[strangers|plastic crinkle]], their faces contorted and unintelligible. Their vioces are echoed [[shouting|plastic crinkle]] and [[laughter|plastic crinkle]] linger in the area, discordant pitch and random volume with a tendency to jump haphazardly; almost challenging you to the impossible task of [[adjusting|plastic crinkle]] your ears to it. \n\nYou [[sit|plastic crinkle]] down at the cafe table outside, [[drinking|plastic crinkle]] your coffee. Head pointed down and eyes glued to your phone. Wind rushes by, causing you to go [[deaf|plastic crinkle]] until it slows down. It then becomes a constant [[whooshing|rain]] in the background of your hearing. A drop of [[rain|plastic crinkle]] hits your [[forearm|plastic crinkle]]. The first sign of the previously forecasted [[storm|plastic crinkle]]. You pick up your [[hot|plastic crinkle]] coffee and move towards the door. A gaggle of college kids [[bump|plastic crinkle]] into you on their way to the cafe. Each of their [[footsteps|plastic crinkle]] a clamorous [[stomp|plastic crinkle]]. Your own carry a [[plastic crinkle]] with it as well as you reenter the cafe behind them. There is no plastic under your shoe but the [[noise|plastic crinkle]] persists. The door [[chimes|plastic crinkle]] with each new individual.\n\nInside, each humming [[light]] is like staring into the sun: blinding bright [[colors|light]] that hurt to glance at, even indirectly. [[Hair|light]] sticks to your forehead, and no matter how hard you try it manages to [[wiggle|light]] back to this default position.

The tag on your shirt scratches at your back. You wiggle your shoulders to [[scratch|deaf]] it but nothing helps. You walk past a dozen [[strangers|deaf]], their faces contorted and unintelligible. Their vioces are echoed [[shouting|deaf]] and [[laughter|deaf]] linger in the area, discordant pitch and random volume with a tendency to jump haphazardly; almost challenging you to the impossible task of [[adjusting|deaf]] your ears to it. \n\nYou [[sit|deaf]] down at the cafe table outside, [[drinking|deaf]] your coffee. Head pointed down and eyes glued to your phone. Wind rushes by, causing you to go [[deaf]] until it slows down. It then becomes a constant [[whooshing|deaf]] in the background of your hearing. A drop of [[rain]] hits your [[forearm|deaf]]. The first sign of the previously forecasted [[storm|rain]].

The tag on your shirt scratches at your back. You wiggle your shoulders to [[scratch|rain]] it but nothing helps. You walk past a dozen [[strangers|rain]], their faces contorted and unintelligible. Their vioces are echoed [[shouting|rain]] and [[laughter|rain]] linger in the area, discordant pitch and random volume with a tendency to jump haphazardly; almost challenging you to the impossible task of [[adjusting|rain]] your ears to it. \n\nYou [[sit|rain]] down at the cafe table outside, [[drinking|rain]] your coffee. Head pointed down and eyes glued to your phone. Wind rushes by, causing you to go [[rain]] until it slows down. It then becomes a constant [[whooshing|rain]] in the background of your hearing. A drop of [[rain]] hits your [[forearm|rain]]. The first sign of the previously forecasted [[storm|rain]]. You pick up your [[hot|rain]] coffee and move towards the door. A gaggle of college kids [[bump|rain]] into you on their way to the cafe. Each of their [[footsteps|rain]] a clamorous [[stomp|rain]]. Your own carry a [[plastic crinkle]] with it as well as you reenter the cafe behind them. The door [[chimes|plastic crinkle]] with each new individual.

The tag on your shirt scratches at your back. You wiggle your shoulders to [[scratch|strangers]] it but nothing helps. You walk past a dozen [[strangers]], their faces contorted and unintelligible. Their vioces are echoed [[shouting|strangers]] and [[laughter|strangers]] linger in the area, discordant pitch and random volume with a tendency to jump haphazardly; almost challenging you to the impossible task of [[adjusting|strangers]] your ears to it. \n\nYou [[sit|strangers]] down at the cafe table outside, [[drinking|strangers]] your coffee. Head pointed down and eyes glued to your phone. Wind rushes by, causing you to go [[deaf]] until it slows down. It then becomes a constant [[whooshing|deaf]] in the background of your hearing.

[[The tag on your shirt scratches at your back.]]

The tag on your shirt scratches at your back. You wiggle your shoulders to [[scratch|The tag on your shirt scratches at your back.]] it but nothing helps. You walk past a dozen [[strangers]], their faces contorted and unintelligible.

Shaking, you throw your coffee away and return to the silence of your car.

The Tag on Your Shirt Scratches At Your Back

Dan Lance