A weird afternoon surely- they all about their day in normalcy.
Trying to adjust by having a coffee and a pastry, but I'm lying to my body, and it knows. It's groggy 'Why are you doing this to me?' over and again is a gray foggy milk across my thoughts.
Stir the coffee again, the cream has settled at the bottom. It's real.
The pastry is exceptional, as I would expect - it originated where factoring its creation isn't calculated in units per hour - it's flavor replete with memories of how other pastries should taste.
Take a deep breath, lady. This is where you are supposed to be. Plus bed is never that far away when you take a holiday - God bless me, if that is not true.
The mind will awake soon, ironically as the sun sets and the bright cheerful lights of the city beckon everyone, no matter where there body may be, but it calls to the mind and heart - come forward all ye weary, take in a lively drink, the ices tinkling and the smells of citrus and bitters awake the mind.
Pull in a thread of Charlie Bukowski to perpetually chant, 'It will get worse.' Because there is a comfort in the chaos. Especially when you can look at it all and smirk - awaiting the night to crescendo as everyone confesses the day is over and we choose to do it tomorrow again.
Early Morning Upon the Mediterranean
The roil of the sea below, energetic with the noble detritus of the ancients, forging a farm upon the seas...thousands engaged in skiff-laden war of fire, claiming rites upon a sea that is impassive and ever-changing and it did not care, in the end, that they were even there. It continued on and we fed its uncaring maw.