Ghosts

Two men embrace and kiss intimately in front of me.
They wear baseball caps and are obscenely obese.
I catch glimpses of words I know as they converse,
but the meanings make no sense together.
They furrow their brows in conversation.

They glance conspiratorially at the bellhop passing by.
His whistle jangles on a long golden chain.
Probably brass.
He mutters into a mouthpiece embedded on his lapel.

The concierge nearby replies from behind a grand marble counter.
He eyes the group of youngsters hanging suspiciously by the elevator.

They stand in a circle.
They talk of the places they have been tonight,
where they have yet to be.
They speak of alcohol consumed,
of the liquor hidden on them in water bottles
and black coca cola bottles.
They giggle wildly,
obviously not in control of their baser emotions.
They take seats,
padded a pattern of red embroidered with gold.

They glance at the man furiously typing into his phone, seated beside them.
He seems lost in deep thought,
unaware of the happenings around him.

Only occasionally glancing up at the two obese men making out just above his field of vision.