Scribble #26

Why can't I see well? The world's out of focus. Rubbing my eyes makes it worse. It's a terrifying thing, becoming short-sighted, suddenly needing glasses or surgery, just to find my place in the world that's focused once more. Assuming I knew where my place was to begin with.

Everywhere in my weakening body hurts. I can't lie down to sleep. When I do I'll have bad dreams.

You're forgetful of the important and obvious things in dreams.

"Okay, could you clarify a few parts of that? Like, the beginning, middle, and end?"

The Starbucks in this area is more private than I had anticipated, despite being really spacey. Anyone could find a place to stand and sit here. Rich London coffee shops would be proud. Yet it has a feel of respecting customers for their own space. Even their time; they can stay and sit and chat for as long as they want and would get in nobody's way. It helps that the endless chatter, as usual in cafes but prominent in large ones, serves as ominous background noise, thus making it easy for everyone to mind their business. This Starbucks, where I am sitting and writing about now, is as white (walls and ceiling) and grey (floor panels and leather seats and benches) and brown (wooden tables and bar counters) as a posh office in an executive's 20th floor in big cities. Picture frames of African bean farmers line the walls as decoration. There is a meeting room with glass walls and a door in the corner, like an office. The walls inside are blue and, like the white brick walls of the main cafe, are ingrained with Starbucks' top slogans. For a respected good cause, I am sure. You can sit and drink at the windows overlooking the whole town square, out of sight of others, including the baristas. And the smell of continuously grounded coffee beans gets stale through your nostrils and throat fast. At least there are fans in the ceiling. Metallic fans. Sleek yet homely, this Starbucks is the private place (and space) to be.

There are so many babies in town. Babies everywhere in public. So many prams, carrier seats and buggies full of bouncy, bewildered and boggle-eyed babies. What do they think about? Anything much? Are they, like everyone else, individual thinkers? Or merely wonderers and wanderers in a new and bizarre life? They do marvel at the big, ever-changing world so. All their little chubby cheeks, chins and big new eyes are enough to make me feel broody. They are overall helpless and dependant on warm, kind elders for attention and love.