Drowning in Coffee

work in progress scrap from creative writing class.

Coffeehouse chatter suffused with the scent of espresso. There is a warm, calming smell to dull the drone of background conversation. The lights are dimmer than its neighbor’s neon headache, the atmosphere more inviting to a downtrodden soul. Across from me, a man and a woman are talking from opposite tables, reveling in the delight of a new acquaintance, someone new to impart their life’s story upon. The harsh grind of coffee beans disrupts the soft talk, and there is a brief hush for the moment after the sound ceases. Slowly it starts up again, overtaking the vaguely jazzy music from above. I wish I could remove myself from the flow of life around me, plug myself in to something I can focus on besides my thoughts. Inward insecurities and rough speculations are enough to drive anyone from sanity. I rustle around in my purse for headphones, but realize after a moment that I left them in my backpack, sitting on the backseat of my car. A deep inhale brings me back to the present, to the coffee and the hard chair and the whine of other voices. Other problems with other people across thousands of miles that are worse than mine, yet somehow this does not bring me comfort. Comfort will arrive in the form of a friend, of which I am eagerly watching for.

Author's Note

any critique will be helpful so i can find a clearer direction.