1. The Tick Ticks Slow at The Cafe (rough)

My coffee is bitter, the sky is grey. Lightning followed by thunder. Droplets on glass window, bending light through warped lenses. I look beyond and people scatter. Those with umbrellas walk fast, those without- faster. Rain...another good reason to hurry along, for God said only 24 a day.

As I sit here alone like any other day, my father is busy. He is always busy. Blends in with the rest no problem. Nowadays the only way you are somewhat different, is for someone to know your name. Otherwise you look the same, walk the same, buy the same things, watch the same movies, read the same newspaper. You’re one of some.

I remember back in the days. He tells me “time is money, son” as if he coined the phrase. Then he’d put on his long coat and walk through the front door. I don’t say goodbye, not since the day he decided it was a nuisance. I walk over to the door and stand on my toes, barely tall enough to peek into the warped lens, he’s already gone.

A young woman in a bright red coat walks by my view and into the cafe. She is beautiful. Probably has a large circle of “friends”, companions. People like pretty things, and the media corporations only took good advantage of it. I am not going to talk to her because I am nobody. I’m not going to bother describing my features to you, I’m just another guy. And this young woman in red, I’m not going to bother describing her features either, she’s just a pretty thing, and surely you know what a pretty thing looks like.

She ordered a latte and left...too quickly. Half of the people watch as she leaves, the other half pretend not to care. The rain continues, but I don’t mind it. I like the rain. I’d like to think that it’s cleaning this place. And the world feels much smaller when it rains, everything much closer, more intimate. The beauty of water falling from the sky, if somebody would just stop for a moment and see! But they don’t, they hurry along like it’s some sort of pest. Their luxury coats and luxury cars and luxury umbrellas can’t take it.

Être continué...