The days he has wasted in cafes. Drinking coffee. Useless coffee. Ha he says, well I could have gone to the park and chatted to the old men walking their pet birds. Green flora abounds but so many days wasted. In cafes. Why didn't I run for the hills and drink wine and dance in the tall, young grass of the mountainside. Throw coins into a well and yell my name into the ages. The days he has wasted. Endless lattes have drained his soul and when the caffeine sleep wears off he cries into his hands like a child.
