God, she’s always there, so annoying. Down through the quieter streets, thinking, looking, headache; shit.
I stop and make a note on my phone; the next idea that people centuries away will dig up somehow and realise.
Walking past ‘SmootheI’s’. It’s that girl again, shit. My legs keep walking and I bend over, put my hands on my legs and stare at the floor. Reversing my stride, I walk myself into the Smoothie shop. There she is serving customers. I’m second in line, shit her eyes look so pretty today, she’s always smiling when I see her.
First in line:
“Hi there how can I help you?”
I open my mout-
“Can I have a Jasmine, strawberry and caramel love?” An older guy behind me spoke.
“You can have what ever you can afford.”
I’m standing right here. Why can’t she see me? I’m going red and I just want to swear at myself really loudly. Everything looks like a painting and I’m not in it.
Why the fuck did that happen?! I don’t even remember walking away. It’s still the only thing that I can think about. Now I’m sat here eating biscuits and I feel sick. More biscuits.
The cupboards are empty. Television. It’s late. Alcohol? No… I can’t hurt myself like that, just go to bed…
I can taste my pillow, wet and salty, and my breath sounds like a steam train on a cold crisp morning.
It’s morning down the quieter streets. Say it: “Black coffee to go please.”
So many other coffee shops. Why get one in a smoothie shop?
Open the door, step towards the counter and look and the board. She is standing in front of me. Look at the board. She’s not looking, she’s smiling at the floor. Look at the board a little longer.
“Black Coffee to go please.”
She’s just smiling at the floor. Ignoring me again, she always ignores me. Why won’t she notice me? Why won’t she fucking notice me?
“Can I have a black coffee please, Love?”
Fire and pain.
She looks up.
“Why don’t you ever see me?!”
“I see you.” She said.
I feel like I am falling. Light headed, I smile, shaking facial tension. I turn my back to her while my legs walk me out of the door.
I can’t even think. I don’t even know. I don’t even know.
*Thump*. It sounded like the thump of my heart on the against my ribcage.
Screaming like babies. They are wailing, the people behind me, the other locals on the quieter street. I turn.
There she is, lying there: a pile of limbs. The red treacle on the floor pours into my eyes and darkness enters through my ears filling my head with a silent hush.
“Big issue! Come and get your big issue!”
Nobody bought the big issue. Not even one.