Life’s smog

My eyes salvage on the gentle gaze between a bio-racial couple whispering giggles with their hands locked together, relaxed and indulging over some hot beverage.

The slam of the cash machine at the counter has me transfixed to the long legged butter coated waitress dressed in black taking orders with all efficiency ignoring the hungry eyes travelling from her perfectly formed cleavage to her delicate arenas.

The menus are jumbled up on a board in white chalk with disabled letters. All one can say is, ‘Let me have No. 3’ or ‘What is good on the menu?’.

The noise from the kitchen destructs an old man from reading his newspaper. I can see him vomit venomous words to himself from the movement of his mouth, turn a little on his seat then gets back to his reading.

At the door, young maidens walk in and crowd an empty table close to the old man and artlessly drag the antique chairs that make squeaky unpleasant noise; the place had seen better days.

My focal point is on a corner table with middle age parents who stir a hurricane of wild gestures with their face filled with frustration as the son sits uneasy and encumbered trying to gain attention from them.

He keeps saying, ‘Mummy, Uncle! Bad man. Mummy…’

I align his troubled eyes to the destination of his sight.

Seated cunningly with a stun face and a slight resemblance with him, is a malicious man  old enough to be my father.

Happy Reading 💚


Black Coffee

Image Credits to: Daniel Jensen


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