(no subject)
sick. I haven't even had a drink, not one in days. It'd probably make it all go down smoother, though. I can see her walking past the coffee shop's age-smeared windows. She's not rubbing it in.
I'm pretty sure she isn't, at least.
Hell, she could be.
Maybe she is.
Probably.
Naw.
It's a busy street, a common street, and I don't own it by any means. And I don't think I'd care, if not for him. Straighten the tie, even tighten it. Make yourself presentable. If she sees you, make her regret leaving such a well dressed man in a white, coffee-stained dress shirt, old trenchcoat and sweat-browned cap. Yes, make her pay for leaving a man who can't even shave himself in the morning and spends all his time scribbling notes in the same booth at the same shop everyday. Pretend you don't notice her, but keep an eye on her, so you can meet her gaze and offer her your unbrushed smile. You're too busy for her with all your work on following a hobo. You're far more impressive than the successful man she walks with now.
I'm a grown man, for godsake. Loosen up that tie and get back to work. She left you, grow up. It's over now.
Yeah.