A Room Is Filled With People Essay
I walk into the unfamiliar coffee shop for the thousandth time, looking around, the sound of the bell, tinkling as the door opens and closes, the sight of the slated, wooden walls, the warm air of the room that clashes with the cold of outside, and the smell of many different coffees lingering even after the customers leave.
What are those other people that you do not see doing? Why are they there? Maybe they’re just there for their coffee, maybe not. Just look around, you’ll see a few that you didn’t before.
That girl that is being completely normal, just drinking her coffee, minding her own business listening to her music through her small, purple headphones. Then there’s the guy that reminds you of about nine different people, specific pants, shirts whose design only makes sense to people just like him, usually having on a hat of some kind, no matter the weather, and shoes without a speck of dust. Lastly, and most importantly, that guy in the corner, the one most people don’t take much notice to, apparently I’m not most people.
What is he waiting on? A person? His order? He’s actually waiting on me, always waiting on me. No, he’s not trying to kidnap me. I know him, I’ve always known him. I don’t remember him when I’m awake, only when I dream.
He always wears a dark gray bomber jacket with a red, white, and blue flannel…