Not So Secret Lives
Corny music plays from the stained ceiling,
The voices of those familiar surround me,
As that same creepy old man stares in my direction.
Why do people sit here?
To pass time?
Because theres nothing better?
Or are they like me and wonder what others are thinking about?
It all seems pointless.
Sitting,
Breathing second-hand smoke
Eating second-hand food.
Is this all there is in a small town?
I am not doomed to remain here like so many others before me.
There is so much more beyond the grimy windows.
At least sitting here makes it look like you have a social life.