Each to their own

Every morning I get out of bed and every night I get back into it and in between I walk all over the place thinking thoughts.

My favourite time of day is breakfast where I can have a coffee and the whole day is before me with its endless possibilities where anything can happen and all my dreams can come true in a moment.

Every day is different but just lately I feel I am writing for an audience and not for myself, perhaps because of suggestion by a few that have said to do it this way or do it that way but just do it any way but my way as if my way is less desirable than their way.

There’s a big hole in my belly that waits to be filled by breakfast.

In this huge restaurant people talk in subdued voices in conversation while children play on the floor as busy waitresses step around them and I notice so many drinking alcohol and for some it is the hair of the dog, and perhaps for some the endless possibilities have to be helped along somewhat, but each to his own.

A man calls out that his breakfast is taking too long, he seems agitated, so perhaps for him it is taking too long.

It’s raining outside so we’re all inside, raincoats and umbrellas and dripping wet and glad to be out of the rain.

Sometimes there's not a lot to do when it rains but just drink coffee and think thoughts...

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