of lunch consisting of sugar
and words, caffeine and strangers.
I could hang here all day
wondering what everyone is up to
making up stories
of the guy with The Doors
book, the one you showed me.
The French guy talking to his girlfriend
on the phone. Bonjour chérie.
I would rather be alone
me and my books and coffee and
and Mr.Mercedes who is a sick fucking
character yet again in a Stephen King novel.
Not going to talk about you or me
just listen to jazz
and wonder why I ever went to the awful café on St-Laurent and the tiniest bathroom since my Paris trip.
Sometimes other reasons bring you to new places and I swear I would die inside
if I never tried new flavours
but the lemon
is my ultimate favourite.
So back to reading
and enjoying the moment
before another meeting
that kills my inspiration.