Quicksand.
I walk and stumble, the world crumbling beneath my feet.
I try to stay on track; I laugh politely.
Gritting my teeth I say, “I’m lovely. How are you?”
I’m on display.
“Would you like more tea, sir?” says the waitress.
He nods, and she disappears.
I watch her.
The voices surrounding me are dull.
Conversations about money or gossip among the city.
“My dear, you’re slouching,” says a faceless woman.
“So I am,” I reply.
The windows are smudged, but the linen is crisp;
As crisp as the business suits surrounding me.
Napkins in laps.
Smiles on faces.
“Excuse me for a moment, please,” I remark.
I gather fistfuls of fabric from my dress and exit the restaurant.
I walk toward the busy street,
and straight into traffic.

xoxoxo
Ash