Cake

You're bored. You're lonely. You're fed up. You cut the slice of banana walnut cake in half and you leave it. You sip. You look. You think. You sip. You breathe. You think to yourself, what on earth are you doing in this place? In this island of lost identities and repressed souls? You dip your stick in your coffee. You lick the foam. You play with your cake. You're lost in the thickness of it. How it formulates itself to the heat. You wear your ring but you can't even feel it on your skin anymore. You whisk. You stir. Are you enjoying this? Is it what you wanted to do today? Or is it just happenstance? Perhaps fiddling with your shopping bags would help. A book. Pulled out of a small sack, which you then slip into a bigger one. You finally take a bite of the cake. It's been seven minutes since you've sat. Five since you've cut it. You rest your arm on the hardback book next to your mug. And you eat. Bit after bit. You dip and you chew and you look and you chew and you're lost in a world you don't recognize.