People. You see the same people in the early morning cafes around town. Recurring faces, characters. I've served them coffee and food and I've been one of them. I can't speak for those sleeping-in folks but the a.m. crowd is a group haunted by loud dreams, nights, memories.
Austin, Texas was strange. I had ridden the Greyhound bus there from another town. One Saturday morning I awoke frightened by a ghost I couldn't shake and we paced the entire city and there was nobody alive but me.
Queenstown, New Zealand I did the same, I was younger and there were people and a cozy cafe. I had a perfect plate of French Toast.
Paris, France I was exhilarated. I'd saved one baguette, chomped on it while I dragged my bag behind me on roller wheels along bumpy sidewalks. Snuck on the train. The sun ached up burned and aged behind the suburbs. I hurried behind a man to get into the airport and held my breath. Then I took off back into all the space.
That's it, the space here, it might be too much. I think I might do better in a city where people cover me from head to toe.
