I was looking through my notes on Facebook and I stumbled upon this old thing I wrote about a year ago.  I remember being in a coffee place and feeling all these things, so maybe you can be transported in a coffee place and feel all these things too.  Enjoy.

————–

It’s a Friday night and I am surprised by the lack of people in the city. Usually, the city is alive on Friday nights, with people itching to escape an entire week’s worth of work, an entire week’s worth of arguments and senseless topics over tasteless luncheons and rushed breakfasts. Usually, the city is alive on a Friday night. But not tonight. At least, not tonight.

There are people. They walk around, boys with their big hoodies attempting to appear ghetto and “cool”, girls with their high-pitched voices and emo punk hair do that often make their morena skin look dirtier than it actually is. There are men and women in their business attire, some with a group of high school friends, others sitting intimately with their partners, whispering the day’s aggravations over cold coffee and a shared pastry. Everyone wants to keep their money to themselves nowadays.

A man in a white shirt with a brown apron busses one table and another. He doesn’t appear to like Friday nights. He just took a plate of a half-eaten chocolate cake and shook his head, probably thinking, “This is such a waste and here I am, throwing it away.” No one was raised to eat on another person’s plate, so he goes around the store, piling one plate of leftover after the other. Did anyone ever pause to think whether he can afford the things he’s putting away? He’s so careful in his movements, making sure that the customers won’t notice him. The other service crew was ignoring him. If the night were to sink any deeper, he would undoubtedly turn into a shadow.

A girl walked in looking quite uncomfortable in her comfortable shirt and jeans, and the table with the group of three called for her. So, they were waiting for her, and they were happy to finally see her, but no one noticed that she’s uncomfortable under the yellow lights and the expensive couch. She was uncomfortable to stash her canvass bag beside the leather one, and regrets not buying a folding umbrella sooner. They were happy to see her, but she didn’t seem happy to be there. They were happy to see her, but they didn’t notice that she only ordered a bottle of their expensive water.

His long hair was tucked behind his ears, an attempt to appear civilized, you can bet on that. His clothes draped sadly over his slumped shoulders and he ordered some short drink. He sat at the corner, trying to appear patient by stuffing his ears with his music, trying to enjoy a drink he knows he doesn’t like in the first place. And he tapped his feet to the beat of the music that he alone can hear. And he looked quite contented in his little musical world, tapping away while being surrounded by the drink he didn’t want to get in the first place. Until she walked through the door.

It was obvious that he’s aching to play the game. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it; he kept pointing at it, even if he’s three feet smaller than the game itself. And he kept looking at it with amazement, blinded by the colorful blinking lights. He wanted to touch the screen and see if the frogs would really jump off the pods. He wanted to grab the drumsticks and see if he really can carry a tune. He wanted to grab the wheel and see if he can be the shortest driver in all of mankind. Then she picked him up and looked at him with eyes that looked like colorful lights. And he knew he was playing his favorite game.

And I sit here in the middle of the room, typing away. I feel the eyes of some people looking at me, as if asking why I am alone on a Friday night. And I can feel my body telling them to not come to me because I am writing words that could be the most mind-blowing drivel of their lives. Because after all, it is their lives. I am just watching them as I sip my expensive cup of cocoa, relishing the taste of that half-eaten pastry, trying to make sense of it all and asking myself why, in a place with extreme insecurities and pretensions, I feel right at home.