reading list

i am blogging... there i said it... i openly admit it...

she sits with her back to me, flipping long red curls from her face as if their impetuous nature can be curbed by her actions, as if anyone's actions can be curbed by her actions. She is thin and pretty enough, but still eats a fat free muffin, and her coffee was all lite soy and caffeine, just the goods, no frills. But that doesn't make me like her any more than the horribly obese people who insist on ordering a diet coke while shoveling big-macs into their mouth. I hate all their ilk, all, and I try to tell them so, but I cannot seem to get the voice together, to get the muster in my throat to yell. So I keep watching the woman with the wily red hair and I keep smoking, compulsively sucking until the filter catches and makes an awful smell. I am surprised I can still smell. She is moving but there is a man in a dark blue peacoat between me and her. He has a briefcase that he keeps gesturing with while he is talking on his phone. Up and down like some casino monkey he waves it, takes out a patron and still he blocks my view. What is she doing? What is she reading? Is she reading? This man has made my well planned location lost. Finally he moves, and while trying to look less frantic than I am, while trying to look more suave than I have ever been, I am jumping up and down. Is she there? The window which I am now considerably closer to, too closer gauged by the wary eye I am getting from the women seated at its edge. One woman starts pointing at me while the other, I think, calls for a barista. To be certain she is waving her arms and screaming as if I had a knife. And as I think such I see myself trying to stab through the glass window, a Red Crosse wouldn't have made it. I cannot be bothered with this, I lever myself up using the trim as a platform and I stand. My body has now encompassed the window. I am like a large awkward spider, but horribly off balance. This is not going to plan.