I just couldn't take it anymore. It was a game a lot of people might enjoy playing now and then, unaware of the searching eyes that have bid on them in turn, like the waiter on me. Men on their own in pubs are like black boxes, but there is a pattern to their sadness, each feeding on itself, glorified in its assumption of uniqueness. Soon enough, the talking man tired my soul with his rants stretched to the point of being utter drunken lies. The coffee had been consumed, though I wished it had taken a little longer, for it was my excuse to occupy that seat.
Cheques are never disappointing.
In a life gone stale with repeating patterns, they have never failed to surprise me. I paid my dues and walked out, disenchanted with the surreal air that had seemed to occupy the place when I had walked in 40 minutes ago. The lobby was still abuzz with the voice of room service, a perplexed house manager stared at me, and the valet wished me good night, almost in contempt or mockery, possibly both. The air was less stuffy outside, I tried to tell myself, almost succeeding. Their gestures made it obvious that they were a group of teenagers, no girls though.