The quiet after the last set

Just finished a show in a town so small the hotel bar had a single stool that creaked when you sat. I didn’t laugh at my own jokes—didn’t need to. The silence after the final line? That’s where it lives now. Not in the punch, but in the hush that follows, like the air remembers what was said. I left my coat behind. Didn’t notice until I was halfway down the street. Dogs on leashes looked at me like they knew something I didn’t. Maybe they do.