I came here to get out of the house. Room, actually. I haven’t had a face-to-face conversation with anyone in three days.
I kept going through my phone book. No one. Not a single person I want to talk to. No one with whom to be myself completely, with whom to spend in company without conversation. Hank told me a morning of awkwardness is far better than a night of loneliness, but I beg to differ. The mornings always seem to last much longer.
At the same time, this is when I want to distract myself the most, and being with other people is the most effective way. I’m too busy being focused on spending time with someone else that I can forget about myself.
In the car it’s all Kid Cudi, and even though I’ve always told myself I wouldn’t drive when I’m like this, I’d always wanted to hear this album when I’m in this kind of mood. I was never one to resist a night in cool summer air, cruising under the city lights to old haunts.
Waiting for my order affords me the opportunity to surreptitiously observe people and try to figure out their roles each clique as they interact. Even though I’m alone, it’s comfort enough to be among strangers.