I'm trading looks with someone near me, a thousand lifetimes away,
Women sit and talk about their views on books, their rehearsals pay off,
The yellow haired server behind the counter, smiles as she talks to a friend,
--Does coffee taste cooler when its served by black fingernail-ed servers?
---Coffee flavored with sugar packets of non-conformity,
Newcomers lathered in noise, negotiate themselves through thick slices of Silence,
A superdouche talking loud with a blue dot in his ear...doesn't stay long,
--We all know where he's going and why its important,
---I hope, for a moment, he trips on a magazine someone has left on the flour,
I drink my aging coffee, and turn the page of a book not yet purchased,
--My young and naive cup of coffee, freely giving its warmth into the air,
---I look deeper and it is me.