Coffee today, alone. A cigarette in my hand. W. Somerset Maugham, opened with one hand. People stop and stare, I see them at the edges. I needed out today, I needed to get out today. I drift in and out, my thoughts rage, I blush, restless. I shake while I smoke, staring at the shapeless faces. I slide my legs back and forth, moving from cheek to cheek, I heave on my cigarette I chug and my coffee, throw a crumpled note on to the table and quickly leave.

Homeless people litter the streets, I trip along, hands raised up, they speak guttural nonsense. My heart, my heart, my heart. I turn a corner, into a doorway, and collapse, hand to my face.

What's wrong with me!