Starbucks Feb. 6, 26

Starbucks Feb. 6, 26

Men are talking amongst themselves. Everyone else is in their own world. Latent women, men and the rest who identify themselves as others. Strollers parked conspicuously, and the ever prevalent phones are clutched in every lingering hand who reach for company. A reach for a division of isolation. Something. Are we in a guise of a preoccupied mental mindset? But let’s get real, not all of us are commissioned as authors on our irrespective laptops. Most are seated in an isolated space in time whose fears are preoccupied by the next patron walking in. We wait. We see. And ultimately, we kneel to the relentless surrender of our hopelessness and calmly make our exit, but not before being exposed to a new tatt one has bravely exposed.

I hear my name. Sounds like music to my ears as I’m called to collect my caffeine infused fuel that I use to climb up the day’s stairs. But not until I help myself to a healthy heaping of Splenda packets for a later use.