Schizophrenic Conversations

“Hello Sir, welcome!” The old man said to him as he held the door open.

“Just me.” he said, scanning the Café hoping to find a secluded place, instead ended up making eye contact with few of the occupants in the almost packed Café. Ignoring and walking towards the seat, he made a mental note of the recent changes in the way the furniture has been set up since the last time around.

Settling, “a pot of Sage, please.” He declared to the same old man who was at the Door, who swiftly moved away after quoting an almost inaudible “Certainly.”

Sitting, he dug into the bag and realized what an unbelievable mistake he’d made. Picking up the book, he very fastidiously went over the notes. It has so many mistakes and data missing. Failing to remember the reasons, he pushed it away and pulled the second notebook. This time being restricted to furiously scratching things off the “To Do List”, they not necessarily were complete.

Lost, he looked up. The memories; they came raining, like a deep dark cloud that has reached its saturation for moisture retention and let go without any notice. He wanted to smile but couldn’t. The conflicts in his mind and the hourglass were an impromptu reminder of his predicament. Fiddling with his communication device he then push that aside too. It didn’t make sense to him; the grains running out in the hourglass reminded him of this predicament again.

Pouring himself a cup of Sage, he realized how the filter kept out the tea dust. Perhaps they were saying something, but what? He then kept the filter neatly on the small bowl provided and the answer was floating right in front of his eyes. He stared at them, waiting for gravity to work. And it did.

Smile, he couldn’t afford, but determined he did finish.

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