You vandalize the thoughts of next table’s patrons, pretending to play on your phone, a bit ashamed to steal the lives of others (but not for very long).
There would be days, ordinary days, filled with daily tasks, performed slowly, a kind of contentment, a certain joy to contemplate one’s life line (broken, but still).
we would let ourselves slip into the skin of a sorry place, where one tries to economize on vowels in long words, in order to come to a conclusion that would remain inside ourselves while watching the late blooms.
To follow the same road every day, to reach the same place, inexorably attracted by a small quay, the smallest of the quays, the one that goes nowhere, it is going somewhere.
* first published in April 2017, modified in April 2019
To seriously interfere in the neglected categories, on the verge of effusion, between the faded eyelashes of time (presumably), of the delayed insertion of a scrimpy alphabet seeking appeasement