November lights

It’s November again. it’s come for me once again. I sit in the coffee shop filled with scent of heavy, fragrant coffee beans, the lights in the place glow very low and holiday-like. The wind is cold and the sky has been dark all day, alternating from a stark, impressive white, to a high-spirited grey-blue. Bobby D. plays on the café radio. I try to concentrate on my book but the excitement of it all makes my hands shake. I steal a glance at the talking women a table away, one with curly hair and a plaid shirt on. People sit outside and drink their coffee. A girl arches her back, in a slinky way and pulls a pack of red and white cigarettes from her pocket; her dark, slightly curled hair hangs around her face gently. I see her dark, Indian eyes, much like mine: black and sweetly haunted with the change of seasons.

I sip at my orange juice in the same red leather racing jacket I wore in December of last year. I ache for a cigarette or some food. My friend promises cigarettes when I arrive at the party tonight. The whole pack she is giving me, gratis.

The sunset now bursts out surprisingly; pink and hot-orange mixed with the blue, and it’s burning. I smell nothing but coffee and sugar. My very breaths are now just coffee and sugar, I feel warm and anxious. Anxious to be outside in the wind and just stand there, that is how I always feel around this time. Like I must stand in one place and stare because soon it will be Spring again, much too soon. Much, much too soon. The girls at the table, lilt out their conversation in a different language. People come and go, the door always opening. Feist now plays on the intercom; I’m in bliss. I just want to melt into the cold and spin around in that sacred feeling.


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