3 Hours Of My Day

Sitting at the right hand corner on an extended brown sofa, the restaurant half full is hungry for even more people. The clock reads 12:30 pm.

The air is mildly cold and soothing but soiled with freshly prepared food placed on an exhibition stand directly opposite the entrance and escaping scents from the adjoining bakery embraces the ionosphere.

The table I occupy cannot be immediately viewed on first gaze from the doorway without first making an attempt to take a few steps forward. It is perhaps the reason for my chosen seat.

My black top sits comfortably above my black pants with my black boots completing the dark trilogy.

In a bid to warm the already misty environment my legs willingly submit into a perfect diagonal; my knees pointed to various cardinal markers. My arms folded, rest suspended gallantly in space.

A transparent glass wall separates my seat from open air and shields me from the power of penetrating eye balls. A sturdy man with yellow skin and dark brown hair appears to be closing some sort of deal with a black man on the porch.

Occasionally I am shot with advancing curious eyes heading to the building’s rear. Each pair disappearing nonchalantly into oblivion without giving away necessary intent.

12:43 pm

My back creaks with wear and tear in unison with my sullen tummy. I feel my insides become rigid. My eyes fall temporarily with increasing disgust.

The waitress catwalks to my table to confirm my order. Chicken Burger and Coca Cola. She leaves in opposite direction. I had thought she got it initially when I came across the counter.

In painful retort I finger for my phone and dial a couple numbers. None connects. Disappointed, I replace the gadget in my pockets.

12:47 pm

A young waiter clothed with mainly white and drops of red wheels my food along with the orders of a couple more people. He rides past me to the distant end, makes his deliveries succinctly and returns to my end unapologetically.

As soon as he gets to me he sets my meal on the China white table, his face reflecting a hard fighting soul on the adjacent window pane. His wrinkles transforms into a genuine smile. He bills me and leaves before I make an effort to pay. I look at the brown paper. Only a few quids.

I sit with calculated gusto. My hormones come out to play. The droppings from the burger spill out from its parcel and paints my hands with clean oil. I don’t care much.

I eat without respect. Initially I am appalled. Afterwards I gain a certain control. The peristalsis of the bolus is quickly washed down with iced Coca Cola. The entirety of my body approves of the flood.

It is at this point I notice the lady sitting opposite me. She wears a red sleeveless top. I look in time to see her husband desert her for the jumble outside.

Everyone is alone exactly as they came into the world. Except for a couple guys. They probably came into the world as fraternal twins. They look nothing alike.

1:00 pm

I don’t need to look at my watch. I can guess what time it is just by listening to the loud tick of the hour hand.

Nothing and absolutely no one ever keeps me in check like the command of my timepiece.

Light through the window pane arrives in reduced flickers. The elements establishes a noticeable change. The skies darken overhead like a brooding widow singing to her soon to become orphan son. I know something is up.

1:03 pm

The waitress comes for my tray after some uneventful moments. In return I pay my bill as she wheels away. I watch her leave as the restaurants fills up with more hungry people. If you looked hard enough you could see anger in their cheekbones.

My phone vibrates. I have a new text.

“I’m here now.” It says.

I am not obliged to reply the text so I don’t. I lift my head to the arriving cold air. It’s time to go.

The Sky is wailing today.

1:30 pm

Outside of the restaurant much to my surprise, the sky is wailing like she lost her mother. I have lost my patience. I let my coat fall to house my head and we storm into the chaos.

The ride back home is a constant battle to remain on the road and have the required vision to not end our lives.

No words are spoken. Occasionally I fall asleep and regain consciousness.

3:15 pm

The tightness in my chest makes way for warm air as I step into my room. The lights come on. The air smells of outside moisture and sad songs. On the wooden table next to my bed lies my headsets.

This bed won’t sleep in itself.

3:30 pm

My bed sinks graciously as I fall in its depth. Plugged to my phone my headsets springs to life. James Arthur bursts out singing loudly with the strumming of his acoustic guitar.

Heaven, sometimes, is a place on earth with you. I am alone.

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