It is Monday morning at the Brickwall Cafe, SUSAN is dressed in a navy skirt and white blouse, blonde hair half curled, pale lipstick, chin on hand. She gazes out to the muddy and raining streets of London, with a disdainful look, deep in thought...
I always find myself alone and forsaken in a cafe. Here I am, like every other morning of the week, sitting here alone and indulging in the consequences of my cynical view on the world.
Many times, men in smooth button ups and slicked back hair, flash me smiles of interest but after seconds of conversation, they scamper away like mice from a trap. It isn't because of the way I dress, nor am I hideously ugly, but people side step away from me because of my honesty. It frustrates me that people are afraid of the truth. So many lives are wasted, and I witness people trudge their way to work day after day, endorsed in a permanent and mundane routine. Everyday the money they earn burns in the power-hungry, greedy mouths of society's highest bidders.
And here I am, chewing on my toast in agitation of my inability to be more ignorant the flaws of humans, and a hunger that can only be fed by greed and power.
