Part 40
"There are people you fuck and there are people you love, and I loved no one."
I settled down with my coffee into that magical moment when your taste buds salivate over the oncoming warm liquid.
Doodling words in my mind as I stirred the cream, I heard that monicker that reminds me that I'm the guy who writes, "Hey Poet."
Self absorbed and oblivious to the world, she had to stand in front of me to gain my awareness.
"Forgot about me so fast?"she asked in a witless way. I raised my uninterested mid morning gaze at her and produced a forced grin.
Margarita is a professional mid-lifer, she is the vein vain that runs through the heart of our wildly superficial city.
Her attempt to make small talk, fully aware that this overcrowded Starbucks on Ponce de Leon was one of the temples that I retreat to, to write was miserably failing.
Her childish restlessness told me that she needed to purge herself. Something seemed to be simmering on the surface, she was half holding onto something she wanted pried from her.
I was in no mood for rodeos and my Pulitzer was craving attention like an old marriage.
She rambled on while I grew inpatient, contemplating how to best rid myself of this distraction. I looked at the door repeatedly to see if she would get the hint but to no avail I was her captive audience.
I put my pen down, took a sip of coffee and settled into the chair suspecting a long bullshit session.
"Did you like what I sent you, did you like it?" I hadn't received anything from her, I hadn't received anything from anyone, so I was confused by her statement and double confused by her giddiness.
To be continued.
