Its late, the streets are quiet.
The couple sit in front of me as I take another sip of my coffee.
The woman, her mind is not with her partner, but floundering around on the pad in her hand.
His voice matching the low drone of the fan, incomprehensible, as he speaks to the cashier.
The plate lays empty beside me as I finish chewing.
A dark cloud grows in my mind.
The flame only creates shadows as it wonders on.
My face crinkles in rage as I take another sip form the steaming cup.
The two metal cans chug as the old man fills another cup for me.
The embers of the lit cigarette burn my eyes.
The glass that was once full has shattered before me.
Glass littered wounds ooze blood unceasingly.
The three refused to acknowledge the sound.
I quietly plucked the glass from my bleeding hand.
The flame grew as time passed and so did the lingering shadows.
The long pavement of the sidewalk looked inviting as dawn approached.
The story begins again as the book closes