Sunday

Just one of those days again when nothing seems enough. Sitting on a couch by the window of a starbucks, I watch life go by. Straight asian couples, gay couples who stick their tongues out at me and wish me good day on leaving- very politely, a large gaggle of middle aged women, the baristas. Pumpkin spice lattes and multigrain bagels with herb and garlic spread (Philadelphia, mind you. I always secret the 2^nd sachet home). Everything rushes by in a blur. The music washes over me, creating a comfortable cocoon amidst vague snatches of the conversations around me. I read another book yesterday- The Poisonwood Bible. Surprisingly good, actually. So, I sit here in my orange beret, my mother’s oversized zebra-print kurta and black leggings. I balance my laptop on my legs which are crossed up on the sofa. My dusty boots lie abandoned somewhere by the table legs. The table top carries a discarded white paper bag, my green cell phone and a copy of ‘Wonder Boys’. I haven’t read it yet. I planned to, but I felt unusually responsible and decided to finish my work instead. They’re out of butter tarts again- Starbucks has the perfect crumbly kind, tiny little tarts, not too sweet or overly crammed with honey that gushes out when you bite into it. I haven’t been to the gym in three days- another uncomfortable thought. Push it away, push it away. The playlists they have here is wonderful- they played the beatles yesterday, alternating with the smiths. Today it’s mellow stuff I haven’t heard before, but reminds me vaguely of artists I would know. One half of the gay couple asked me if I wanted a drink and I instantly developed a crush on him (this was before they were kissing and sticking their tongues out at me). Mylo Xyloto’s out. I love my spot- it’s directly in front of the black granite fireplace. Another couple has come and occupied the sofas to my left. It’s actually a cozy circle of four sofas- the Caucasian couple to my left, me, and a middle aged bespectacled redhead on my right (she’s on msn. Why on earth is she at a coffee-shop on msn on a Sunday?). The boy is dressed in a shiny black leather jacket and jeans. The girl stroking his thigh (not in a gross way) wears a blonde ponytail, a red Indian looking scarf-thing and a black sweater. I’m no longer afraid of solitude- in fact quite the opposite; yesterday, I opted to stay home in a comfy sweater and finish reading ‘The Poisonwood Bible’ while eating take-out chaapli kabab, instead of going out clubbing with an old high-school semi-friend and his friends.  We both stayed up till 3am. Sometimes I feel like my youth is passing me by (at only 19, whatajoke right?). But no, really. When I was 13, I was terrified that I’d spend my life alone. It’s not a very pleasant prospect even now. The girl has her hand against the boy’s cheek. He smiles up at her. Crow’s feet. They both laugh. Some female artist singing an indie-type song is on in the background. Now they both get up to leave. So does the middle-aged woman. Island.