Starbucks

I'm flickering. Like a firefly. Buzzing. Like a bee.

A picture forms. It's somewhere else and I'm wandering along, wearing my home on my back and I glide over pavements and the air smells of Lalique and the leaves drift lazily and settle in my hair until I'm something of a cross between a snail and a dryad.

That guy in the red kurta who's just rocked up, with the diamond drop in his left ear, he looks gay, and the girl with him looks suitably moneyed. Oooooh the joys of fag hagging. (I'm the only gay in this village, Myfanwy)

(Nothing's gonna change my world, nothing's gonna change my world)

The lady with fine long straight hair and a carefully tended fringe, bites neatly into her sandwich and regards the man in a pink shirt intently. She smiles in all the right places. Looks coy. Tilts her head to one side. Dabs her mouth with a napkin. Offers pithy observations. Laughs. Her hair is so perfect. Surely he sees that her hair is so perfect. Does he know how long it takes to get it this perfect?

(All you need is love, love, love is all you need)

The ballerina with her hair pulled into a bun and her symmetrical parting, bends over her book, latte in hand. She looks tranquil. She's classically beautiful - all lines and angles - smooth like white marble and just as unyielding. No softness anywhere. Sits cross legged in her armchair. Reaches out to sip her latte. Bites her fingernail. Stops. All intentness for the page.

(The yearning to be near you, I do what I have to do)

The guy in a bright blue shirt is fiddling with his earlobe. His ice latte in a clear plastic cup, balanced precariously on the wooden barrier. He gazes at his laptop. Scratches his head. Then caresses it. Bites a fingernail.

A man walks into the Travel Zone. He is old and Caucasian and he looks clumsy with contentment. He walks into Travel Zone because he can afford the luggage there and it does not faze him that this is Bangsar Village and everything is expensive. More expensive than most. He walks around surveying the pull bags.

Two strangers seated in separate circles are having a conversation. One a bald, bearded Indian man in a light brown shirt. The other a funky young Chinese guy with moussed hair and a cheeky smile. Older guy advises younger guy. He's shaking a finger. Young guy smiles, amused.

(I require plenty conversation with my sex)

Ballerina is feeling cold. She winds a scarf around her neck. Then it's back to the book. Guy at Travel Zone has just picked a bag. A medium sized pull bag. But then he gets attracted to another one. He comes back to original choice. Hmmmm...decisions, decisions...

(Baby, baby, baby I got so much love in me)

Family seated around a laptop. Dad tries to work. Son on his lap with arms draped around Dad's shoulder. Mom craning her head to see what the other two find so interesting. Dad smiles. He has gleaming white teeth. Mom limps. Uses a walking stick. Son, clearly adopted. Happy families being happy together.

(No one needs to know, where you may carry me, you can take me down your stream and show me what my wishes mean)

The baristas are smiling. Attending to two girls in short shorts. They're getting coffee to go. And maybe some pastries. No, we really shouldn't. Oh come on, I can resist everything but temptation. Oright then, just one. Just one. Creamy, puffy, sweet centre. Yum yum.

(You scumbag, you maggot, you cheap lousy faggot, happy Christmas your arse, pray God it's our larst)

And the guy next to me is blog surfing. Leaving comments as he passes through. Kinda like how I wish you would....