Home From Home

Empty coffee mugs litter the tables, tidemarks of brown sludge marking their once fullness. Someone plays flamenco music through a poor quality speaker; it lacks the passion of a real performance. A lone girl stands behind the counter tapping her toes, her fingers out of sync on the desktop. She patiently awaits my order with […]

Dream Days

Saturday is the fresh breath of morning that Sunday can never hope to be. Sunday is the bleary-eyed midday that Saturday can only dream about. The week days can’t comprehend the thoughts of the other two because they’ve too much to be getting on with. The nights don’t care either way.

The Reassurance Of Same

Atmosphere of oppressive gloom, Lightless is the day; Cars blink in headlight necessity, The school children seeming lost. Summer, departed, a confusion of season And zodiac signs. I watch it all from the same seat of the same coffee house, With the same drink in the same place, An uncaring smile upon my lips.