I’d sit and stare out the window and imagine the bottles lining the sill were filled with whispered messages. Indecipherable murmurs that radiated with the caress of the sun. Quietly, I would rotate my glass of ice and Coca-Cola popped can. My nimble fingers would take a napkin, folding it into various intricate shape combinations. Slowly, I would pull the napkin open. Snowflakes.
The table had a bubbled area where the varnish came into contact with heat and I would run my fingers along it and pull off a little chip of the coating when no one was looking. I’d collect little crumbs that escaped after-breakfast cleanup, sometimes lining them up or arranging them in a circular pattern.
I would work a crossword, read the funnies, check out my horoscope (I’m a Leo), and flip through the coupons. I’ve always been much older than I seem on the outside.
Quiet contemplation.
