Perfected :: Her Body :: Greek Necessity :: Deep Throats :: Scrolls

The Forest Cafe, Edinburgh. Burning your fingers on a hot cup of chai and wondering why you didn't put a sweater on. A handful of violets stuck in an empty merlot bottle on the table. The doorframe painted glossy plum and rainbows on the walls. There are fairylights and plants in the window. Billowing white material is pinned to the ceiling, white walls with bright murals. Spider plants and angry chick music playng on the stereo. The chai tastes like last year's new age festival, the one with tipis, mixed sex saunas and Swedish films palying under canvas. Three days of solid meditation, countless cups of chai and the occasional joint, toked inexpertly. The tea strainer doesn't do a great job of getting rid of the leaves, so a thin film of bitter tasting flakes covers the brown liquid. By the left hand front window, the only other occupants occupy couches and cushions. Everyone here knows everyone else and from the second you walk in you're shifting awkwardly from foot to foot and using your backpack as a barrier betwen you and them. It's like the tatty, nicotine stained Sixth Form common room all over again, except this time you suspect these people are actually interesting. So you care what they think and you don't want them to think you're and idiot, but they haven't even noticed you anyway, so it porbably doesn't matter. You read somewhere that 90% of their clientele are regulars, so maybe if you come back often enough they'll get to know your name. As you start to nervously gulp down your last cup you wonder how stupid you'll look if you ask which CD is playing right now. It's probably one of thse things you should already know, and though you actually don't, you'd like to. When you fo ask, they don't know either. For some reason this stil makes you feel stupid. The unevenly printed monochrome flyer on the table makes its way into your pocket, creased and folded and to be retrieved later. The fairylights flashing on and off at irregular intervals are starting to give you a headache and the chai is down to its last cooling, leafy drops. Rummaging around in the backpack covered in rainbow badges, garnered from last years rainy, anti-climactic Pride (your first), lipbalm is retrieved and smoothed on with inkstained fingertips. That last part isn't true, your skin isn't inky at all, but you like the way it sounds so you decide to keep it in. It's freezing (it's Edinburgh), your t shirt is too thin, transparent actually, and even though it looks god you still should have worn a sweater. ______________________________ we have come so far :: it is over

Accomplishment :: The Moon :: Toga :: Night Flower