Saturday, September 21, 2013

Drifting At High Speed

The eggs crackle and spit in the fry-pan.  The smell wafts to me.  And lifts in.


But I'm on the go.  If I stop to have breakfast I'm going to be late.  And miss my train.  Can't miss it.  

I'll just grab an iced coffee at the train.  And a scone.  Maybe one of those flakey ones with the chocolate chips. If they have them. I'm not such a fan of the blueberry ones.  A lot of people like those.  I don't, really.  

Shuffled and squeezed up the steps, through the narrow doors. And then I'm on the train. Two people in the three-seater on my left.  Neither makes eye contact.

Look at me.
Look.  At.  Me.  (Staring.)
I know you can feel my thought darts.
Ah.  Its ok.  I wanted to stand. 

Walkety walk.  Talkety talk. 
None of it is any of your busyness.

Faster.  Quicker.  More.
Fasterquicker.  More.

Words speeding out.  Clustered together.  
Another window.  Another box.  Another.  Yet another.

My back aches.
My iced coffee is sweating.  Water beads on plastic.  Drip-drip-drip.
Paper bag,
                 blueberry scone,
                                           scrumpled and clenched in my left hand.

1 comment:

  1. Why did you get the blueberry scone? That's just depressing.