Got Nothin’

A girl sits at a table reading a book. I’m too timid to write about women so I look elsewhere. A man is doing the same on the other end of the cafe. He’s wearing a hat. Something there, maybe? No. The guy on line looks like he needs to pee; there might be a story in that. Why not just go to the bathroom? Just get the drink afterwards. His daughter is tugging at his shirt, the side hidden from my view. Son of a bitch. Outside, cars flow down the highway. The other night I saw a guy on a motorcycle hit a curb and fall off his bike, skid across a lane before picking himself up. I pulled over to the side, I was the only one. Every other car just kept right on down the road.

“You alright man?”

“I’m okay! I’m okay!” He had already pulled his bike to the side of the road. He looked shaken up but nothing a few moments by himself couldn’t cure. I drove away. End of story. Nothing there. Maybe a poem? A poem on not being able to write? Looking around the cafe for some kind of inspiration? Been done. Always bad. Maybe I can post this? It’s a stretch, a long one, and I’ve written pretty much about this exact thing before. Again? Really? There’s nothing else to write about other than this god damn cafe? How many times are you gonna write about this?

Is this woman talking to herself? Oh my god she is. Why? What’s going on with that? That’s pretty close to the edge, lady. I’ve been there. Used to talk to myself while folding clothes in retail. Used to have pretty loud conversations with myself in the back when I took in the shipment. Got caught a few times; they would just laugh and call me strange. I was going through some shit then. Didn’t have time to process thoughts, they all just came gliding out, carried by the winds from my mouth around my head and circled back into my own ears. Nobody else to listen. I guess I worked through some stuff. It seems pretty circular now. Know some other people who talk to themselves too. Maybe it’s soothing to hear your own voice. Anybody to hear what you need said. Even if it’s your own self. Oh god damn it … she’s got blue tooth on. How did I not … son of a bitch. I’m going home. I got nothing tonight.


Author: antbrov

Fiction | Magical Realism | Introspective Write > Edit > Hate > Learn > Write...

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