Subway To Starbucks

There aren't so many people in the subway today. Guess everyone is out for vacations. Maybe they went to the beach. Maybe they are in another country. Or working. I like the subway. I like it better than the bus. And I'd like it more if there were no TV screens in it. They're useless, show too many ads and make too much noise. But still, I rather taking the subway than taking the bus. I don't sit down. I stand up in front of the window. Looking at the landscape. Listening to The Kooks. I thank God for them. I take some pictures. I find my way out of the station. Start walking to Starbucks. The security guy holds the door opened as he welcomes me. I bow, like the ladies used to bow, in the old times. He bows too, and smiles. I order a Vanilla Latte. Venti. Pay for it and sit down. I hear my name and start drinking it. As if I was drowning and this beverage was my air. As if I was a junkie and this was my heroine. As if I was a psycho or a vampire, and the caffeine was blood. Maybe I am all of that. Maybe I am a psycho vampire who is drowning. A tear runs down my cheek and I wipe it off with my sleeve. My eyeliner probably ran, but what the fuck do I care. I just drink. Coffee. Caffeine. Air. Heroine. Blood. Music. Love. Everything I need is that hot beverage in a recycled-plastic cup. And I thank God for The Kooks again. My cellphone rings. My dad wants to know if I went to the gym. My mom told me to take care of me. I want a cat. Back home. Subway agan. I sit down this time. I walked around for an hour or two and I feel tired. Or that is my excuse. The guy standing in front of me looks like if he had a coffee earlier and then took a walk around the park. I take a book out of my bag, but put it back in again. Fucking televisions. And for the third time in the day, I thank God for The Kooks. I get home. Say hello and walk upstairs. Take a cold shower. Wash my teeth. Knit. And I fall asleep really late. Thinking that I want somebody to sleep with. Another body keeping me warm in those cold nights. Somebody else breathing the air around my neck. Making me sweat and moan. Touching my skin softly as a wake-up call. Even hating him sometimes. But still, knowing that at night he'll come to my bed to sleep next to me. Cuddle up to me. Make spoons and hold hands. Just loving me. Me loving him. Just that.

But I keep thanking God for The Kooks...