i can smell sulfur and smoke and creme in hot coffee. no one is here for me. nothing is changing fast. nothing is staying the same. i dont carry my camera anymore. who do i have to look forward to taking pictures of? with? for? why do i do this ALONE so much?

a lot of people come here alone. it makes me think (like everything else) but none of them write.some read. but most look around. dilligently waiting for something to happen. waiting for something. someone. me? are they plotting? planning? or just alone? like me? with me? do i exist and why? where are we all going? alone? together? sulfur aain. a human chimney. much like myself. and alone, like me.

what am i waiting for is really the BIG question. what am i ANTICIPATING? does anyone think of me? where is she going? why is she here alone? again...and again.

why hot chocolate? why blonde? why furry boots and to much make-up? why always with that book? what does she write? my book is my companion... my sanctuary.

and here.

this cafe???

calling me home to these invisible fireworks.