Fabulista: M and the people passing by...

As M sits, bathing in the warm sunshine streaming into the café through the glass panels, a thought enters the mind, “How many times have I sat in here and waited? Waiting for the right one to come along…? Is it going to work? Does it work this way?”

As M considers this, countless pass by. They are passing by the pavement outside the café, the one running along next to the street. The people’s faces are plastered with blank stares that seem intent on looking nonchalant to who or what is ahead of them. They walk by, evanescing into the distance.

To M, they look beautiful, most of them filled with a natural beautifying essence called ‘youth’. “Wasted on the young…” M sighs. They are filled with so much potential, so many possibilities that are so often ruined by the wrong choices.

As the sun sets, the profiles of the passer bys become silhouettes. Their features, beautiful or otherwise form a beautiful grotesque in the warm colourless glow of the sodium streetlights, like orange spectres crossing to the other side.

M. goes back the book that is meant to be read.