The last place I want to go is home. Tonight, home is this coffee shop for the next two hours. Home is however long the battery on my MacBook lasts. Home is anywhere but where I should be. Like the hipster grandpa sitting to my right, we’re both probably finding some kind of empty companionship alone in busy coffee shops. Hipster grandpa, you and I both, you and I both.
There are dark feelings and unsettling thoughts lingering in the back of my mind, and I know it will feed on my isolation and grow. Like a cancer. The type of feelings that make you pensively drink wine, smoke, and listen to Adele and Coldplay. The type of period pushing entitled high school girl feeling that makes me think “nobody understands me, it’s me against the world, I’m alone, woe is me”. I feel estranged from the world I’m so desperately submerging myself into tonight. Like a fake orgasm in a bad porno, it has to happen, but sometimes it’s just not the right place or time. And if my life were a porno, I would think it came too little too early. Too little climax and too much denouement. It would be an ugly “o face”, poor casting, and a shaky camera – something not quite worth watching. I would probably call it “The Most Pedestrian Porno”, and it would end up in the recesses of shady sex stores, in the darkness, where the light never touches.