the tea lounge part 1
Alone with the mom squad at the local coffee house trying to look like I've got important work to do on my very important laptop attempting to distract myself from the fact that I feel so utterly alone.
It's so crowded in here now - and loud; not the place to be doing important work at all. But it's cool and it's not my tiny, hot, New York one-bedroom apartment that I can no longer afford - and it's not a bar.
Babies crying. Dishes breaking. Reggae music blaring. Reggae is so very coffee house cool.
Blonde woman with an I-Mac trying to concentrate. She's so pretty. She's wearing pink. She's pretty in pink. Glasses, twirling her hair, thinking. Sipping her iced latte through a straw. What would I say to her? Do people do that? I mean, how do you approach someone like that? In here? I'd probably trip over the strollers if I tried.
Forty-something man to my right making small talk with a girl half his age. God that's me in just a few. Or am I that now?
She's so pretty. The girl in pink. Thinking. Hand to her mouth, pensive. Is that a wedding ring? She looks in my direction. Back to her computer. What would she say to me? I bet her name is Beth. She looks like a Beth. I've obsessed. I have to go before I embarrass myself.
I get up to leave. It's time to go. The music is now reggae covers of The Cure. Definitely time to go. I stand. Stretch my legs, pack my things and get ready to leave. To escape. I wonder if she notices me leaving, the girl in pink. Don't think about it. I'm out.
I get to the door. It's pouring rain outside. I'm stuck.
Hell is a trendy coffee house in Park Slope.
-graham 7/7/ 04