café talk

The guy sitting beside me is trying to impress the girl at his table. She nods her head, eyes glazed over. I know that look, that girl used to be me. He speaks loudly, making sure everyone can hear him. He never pauses enough to let her say a thing. God he's boring. Full of self-enthusiasm. This café reeks of cash. I'm scratching at my flea bites. Now one is bleeding. It looks more like measles now than fleas, they're everywhere.

Every time the cat walks past me I grab him, he meows angrily and squirms, and I pick off a flea, rolling and crunching it between my nails. If they're not at least bisected, they come back to life. They're so hardy, like little stones. Now the cat walks in wide circles to get past me, he's very wary. Even so, when I left this morning, he cried beside the door. It made me stop and smile. He's too tough to show affection to my face.

Now the guy next to me is talking about advertising, he wants to start a company. Of course, the typical 'ad-guy.' I feel interested beside myself. The girl finally says something, and her voice is so squeaky and her conversation so vacuous I can't blame him for drowning her out. She's a secretary and she's moving.

I've really fucked up last week. So many drugs I missed my methadone appointment. Blurred, sleeping, meeting the dealer, sleeping again. It makes my nightmares worse. The sky is so blue and clear outside. Why can't my life be like that?