Me and you and a cup of coffee

March 3, 2001

all day long i’d been wanting to be alone and the first moment i had to breathe in silence, i went out.

what is it about a cup of coffee, a room filled with strangers and acoustic dronings that makes me feel safe? i sat at the table against the wall, protected by a fortress built with my mug, my LA weekly, my book, my journal and grandma bag, enveloped in my own private world of thoughts and scribbles. occasionally i glanced up at the lonely man strumming his guitar, just so he would know that someone was listening.

he sang songs about dreams and girls and taking long walks on the boulevard, and i wondered where you were and what you were doing, and as always, i hoped you were smiling.


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