I'm here. No one else is. Well, no one in my group. The room is cold. Loud and echoey with the chatter from other tables. Island of thought and activity. Busy beings relating their busy lives and redundant complaints. Dropping stitches and jotting notes. Sipping coffee. Sucking soda. Playing board games or being bored while clearing tables of the left behind reminderrs of consumption. I poke at my gigantic piece of Black & White, afraid to eat it because the server didn't wash her hands after she bundled up an overflowing garbage bag before handing my plated pastry to me. I wonder when this table was last wiped. How many germ ridden hands have touched the back of this chair?
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