My mind strolling down my life. Easily it's walking through all the scenes I've seen before. That's in a flash, but in a long pause, it could look to me. Present me. My mind strolling down my city putting his hands in its pockets and wonders about the other side of its being. I could finally grip my coat and leave that café. My fellows would be bewildered but I don't care. For rare times I was that boorish, for my own measures I mean, but my mind is strolling away, and I have to follow.
Another café. Sitting alone. A cigarette in hand, cappuccino in the other, and your eyes behind your glasses giving an absent look to everything.
You do not care of that lusty woman passing by.
You do not care for that novel a mid-aged man is reading.
You, even, do not care why the hell you are sitting here.
I know it's night. I know when the shadows of my own mind falling on me. I know I can sit in my bed holding my head. Have no reason to hold my head. Have no reason to sit in my bed. Have no reason to fear the night. Have no reason to feel that, in a very smooth shifty way, that my mind begin to betray me.