Writer at the Ready

I prefer the table without a light, even if it’s in line with the toilet. Out of the glare, more room for shadows.

The hum of the drink’s fridge is meditative and reduces the conversation at the till to syllables and intonations that gently pepper my thoughts.

From my seat, I watch people queuing, apprehensively, for their cups of motivation. Beyond them, is a window and the street outside; lending me an outlet to daydream.

The balance is all set. I just hope my muse shows up this time.

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