The girl was crouched in the corner writing a poem. There was a certain kind of inspiration outside the window as the winter was starting to look endless. Inside, the young couple to the right of her was deep in their mobile phones exchanging racy pictures as well as verbal innuendos and she was starting to sense that her poem was getting erotic undertones.
She liked this cafe as it took her places. Like the first time that she found herself behind the Christmas lights of the entrance - she was bored and confused and she wrote her most romantic piece ever. All due to the sounds of Glenn Miller's orchestra playing some of this world's most beautiful serenades. That piece alone made Paul fall in love with her. Then there were times when she picked a book from the shelf and drew her inspiration from a random line of poetry and prose. Like the time when a collection of Nikolai Gogol's writings led her to a mystical poem that everyone in their secret society loved so much. Or the time when a cup fell down on the floor and cracked to pieces, leading her to break up with Paul following that biting four-line piece.
Now she wanted something depressing to maybe lead her to the end of the existential crisis and accept the world as it was (cruel, bizarre, absurd), but the couple to the right was relentless. 'What would you do if I came to you in a pornographic outfit like that?' She looked expectantly, hoping he would not disappoint. 'I do not know', said the man, slightly taken aback. At which point the girl in the corner sighed, turned her head to the window and her thoughts drifted to the endless winter outside.
