Asphalt clouds hung down
On the Southeast end of Manipal
Muffling out any light
That the sky could boast at one a.m.

I wandered into an old cafe
Looking for some kind of life.
And in that antique light
I found what I was escaping from.

Falling into a tight, stiff, wooden chair.
I stared at the emptiness.
Thick oily paint,
Like the color of a shabby old newspaper,
Magnified the cracks in the wall.


The only decorations were
Three large prints of paintings
That had aged and blended
Into the colorless color of those walls.

I ordered the special of the day.
I don't remember what it was,
Only that there was a lot of it,
And I ate very little.

The whole thing was so depressing,
So very god damn depressing.

In the background
I heard slices of some unfortunate beasts flesh
searing in agony on a grill.
While glasses and dishes
Tinkled and crashed in futile protest.

I sat there for a long time.
And thought of all the thoughts
That had collected in that place
Over the past decades.

Then I walked out
And nothing had changed.

Nothing, except that it was drizzling.

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