I sit with my cup of tea in a cliche coffee shop in the capital, pondering the events of the day. I am wearing the only suit I’ve ever bought, with a briefcase of clothes that should last me the weekend sat on the floor beside me like a dozy dog. A squeezed teabag, washed of its value sits beside my cup of tea, quarter full.
I don’t feel tired, but perhaps I am. I feel dull and uninspired, despite having left a job interview that went well for a job I think I’d like, or at least prefer to my current position.
My girlfriend texts me to say I’ll see her in an hour. A police car wails by. The group in front of me having a business meeting speak in tones and words I can’t relate to, or care for.
Why am I not pleased with the day? I have been loathing my job for months now; leaving its choking embrace has occupied my mind intensely. This is a great step forward in the right direction; and yet I am not satisfied. I must be tired, but I don’t feel tired, I just feel like a styrofoam bowl of grey and beige soylent.
When I run, and my heart squeezes until I can feel my pulse beating in my fists, my mind dreams of violence, in sync with the music I blare in my ears. I shoot some sparks into that space of my mind now, but find it mired in diesel. The brain has lost cabin pressure; no ignitions today.
A young couple leave without paying. A barista chases after them and retrieves the pair, laughing and embarrassed at having forgotten to pay. I watch on, and feel nothing. No judgements are made.
There is a tiny shelf beside me proudly displaying a transparent trophy. The Perspex cuboid informs me that this particular establishment was awarded runner up for best coffee shop by the ‘Hot Diamonds London Lifestyle Awards’. “I get around” by The Beachboys plays in the background. This is what it must feel like to be middle aged: nostalgia for the tunes of your youth while celebrating meaningless prizes from meaningless organisations.
My girlfriend sends me a message telling me that she will be 15 minutes late. I don’t want to keep writing this, but it seems like I’ll have to.
This place isn’t bad. It’s got a quaint layout – open bar and a big window to look across the street through. It’s sad that the pews furnishing the place were probably from some church in disrepair somewhere. I tried to get into the church before I got here, but they wanted to search my bag before I got in and I couldn’t be bothered pouring all my stuff out for them. I must be tired.