that café where time felt like sediment

okay, so i just returned from that tiny spot near the river where they serve bitter lukewarm coffee. it smelled like mold and regret, kinda. people wait longer than tacos, usually when the barista forgets their name, leaving empty chairs like shed coats. i found a corner booth sipping chicory brewed from something that tasted like burnt copper. the only sound was the drip-drip-drip of faucet and the distant wail of a streetlamp that hadn't forgotten how to shine. you try to ignore the buzz, and it’s just this hum beneath you, heavy and insistent. my feet feel like they’re swimming through wet concrete, every step echoing back like ghosts. this place doesn’t just serve coffee-it demands you surrender to its slow poison. maybe it’s where the real conversations live, or maybe it’s just all the stuff life churns away. i don’t know what this is anymore, but sipping that coffee anymore isn’t helping. the sunlight slants through the window like a tired clock face, ticking endlessly. somewhere inside, someone’s counting seconds until someone forgets how to breathe. it’s strange how familiar this space feels after too many nights in bed staring at the wall, wondering where i went. i left clutching the mug like it might fix everything, but it only made things worse. nearby, a pigeon scurries past, indifferent, its feet a blur against the surface. the air smells sticky, like old paper and despair, clinging to everything touched. i wonder if places like this hold secrets i shouldn’t see. sometimes i imagine sipping coffee there and understanding why i stayed. the silence stretches farther than the waitress’s vanity, vast and waiting. i try to focus on the taste, but it slips away faster than i can swallow. this isn’t a break room-it’s a purgatory. some moments here feel like staring into a mirror that shows cracks, but not yet the face i should’ve known. another person walks by, and i almost feel overwhelmed, as though i’ve been holding this tension since dawn. it’s impossible not to notice the faint rustle in the empty room, maybe dragging on the floorboards. sometimes i catch myself looking up and realizing my eyes are missing something, looking desperately at no one. the world outside rushes past, indifferent, carrying away things i thought i’d take home. i don’t fix it. i just exhale slowly into the stillness, hoping for a bit more clarity, but it’s slipping through my fingers anyway. the barista just wipes a counter with mechanical precision, indifferent again. time feels like it’s holding its breath around this place, waiting for the next victim. i don’t know if this is where i should be staying or running out of nowhere. my reflection stares back, serene for a millisecond before dissolving into the indigo shadows beyond. perhaps i’ll leave a note, but writing now would make it worse. the world spins slower here, and for a minute, i feel like i could finally see what’s real underneath the fog. somewhere beyond these walls, things are better. i wonder if i’ll ever find a place where time doesn’t scream me back with its lies.

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