I sit on a bench in Fells, sipping on hazelnut coffee. There are two men sitting on the curved stone bench before me, smoking what I'm convinced is marijuana.
A group of four young white girls in skirts that playfully flap in the wind walk by with paper cups of ice cream. Two dogs out for an evening stroll with their master bark at a tree. Or something in the tree. A squirrel, perhaps. Or a bird.
The engine of a motorcycle groans like an upset belly.
Taxis peruse the square, searching for a source of income. A helicopter passes overhead.
I drove up here for a reason. I believe there was a reason. I'm not sure I achieved it by sitting alone on a wooden bench, sipping on coffee I don't recall paying for.
No, this could not have been the reason.
But it appeases me. Regardless, it appeases me.
The constant breeze. The warm tones of blue from the sky. The glow of the street lamps. The unintelligible, soft flow of conversation. The faint smell of sea water.
This seems good enough. A good enough way to spend the evening.