unessential observations of a thursday afternoon
amateur writing but i don't care
i’m sitting at the community market with a book and an iced latte. i had finally decided to leave the house and spend money that i don’t have on caffeine, because my caffeine-deficiency-induced-headache was becoming too overwhelming, throbbing with every step i took, like my brain was shaking around in my skull. and besides, i was in a too delusionally dreamy state to function like wanted. so i got out of my house, and got some coffee. i’m sitting up against a rough brick fireplace, its walls jagged for the rustic aesthetic, which are a bit uncomfortable against my boney back, but i stuff my jacket behind myself and choose not to care. the sound of the cars flow and rush ahead of me, and create gushes of air that force my hair into my vision, annoying me excruciatingly, but i’m trying to be better, so i pretend that the rushing noise is just a continuous current over my mind, refreshing it constantly so to allow my brain to best digest the words in my book: blankly, undistracted. but i am distracted. a man sits aligned with me across the grass lawn, speaking to his phone about goths or cods, i’m not really sure which. occasionally, cars or people will pass me to my right, and i wonder what they wonder of me, if they even notice me at all. i am vaguely thinking about how i feel i am too different from everyone else, not normal, unable to exist normally or communicate normally, and i wonder what will become of me if i really am too much unlike how i “should” be. i’ve drank (drunk? drunken?) over half of my iced latte now, leaving it empty enough that it shudders a bit with the breeze, and so i have to use the bathroom, but i take another sip anyway because i still have a headache. when i left my house and embarked on my trip to the market, i was cold in the sunny yet unfriendly and chilled air, but now the sun feels too hot, tingling on my bare forearms. the music from the market meshes with the noise of the road; a person to the left of me is coughing; a bee buzzes around a nearby bush, searching. the traffic stops. i gaze over my shoulder at my surroundings, and for a few moments everything is somehow silent and still. all i can feel is my breath. then, the person coughs again. on the street the wheels begin, slowly at first, spinning again. i remember i need to pee. as i adjust myself in preparation to leave, i look up, and every single person has gone1.
a true story