Author Information
Caffiend
sitting on the cracked concrete
in front of the little shop
watching the cars go by
hood over my head,
shielding me at least partially from the wind that's
coming through the narrow alley
where guys probably piss
after too many two-dollar coffees.
the afternoon is overcast, seems sleepy.
which is fitting,
i'm content with the quiet day.
the sign in the window-
"open 24 hours"
draws in quite the assorted crowd
brought together sometimes by nothing more
than the fact that there's nowhere else to go
at 3 a.m.
when you can't sleep because you can't stop hacking
from all those damn beloved cigarettes.
but somehow this common nocturnal ground
brings about a comfortable bond.
a row of randoms
tie-dye, piercings, camo, plain tees, boots, sandals
on the concrete ledge
leaning against the bricks
that make your hair stick to the wall.
caffeinating-
debating, conversating, very seldom overrating
quite frankly,
we're all just bullshitting.
united by the idea that
everybody should just
get over themselves
and drink a cup a joe.
no, not a glamorous scene
but does it get more real than this?
