A Walk

I walk down my street. The same street it's always been.
All the same people greet me as the day before. The same dogs bark and the same horns honk. I wave and smile at every familiar face
because every face is familiar.
Walking downtown I take the same short cuts that have been taken for generations. As I walk into the coffee shop, the owner's shout of greeting hits me at the same time as the delicious smells of hes organic cooking and wonderful coffee.
I smile and ask all the
polite
questions that I'm suppose to, as I sit on the wooden bench in front of the colorful table I always sit at.
He answers my questions with all the
polite
answers that he's supposed to answer with. I hear him start my breakfast even as he asks me what I want this morning. I don't answer, and he chuckles. I sit waiting for my food and watch the people outside.
There goes Mr. What'sHisFace who taught me in fourth grade, going to the News Paper Office from the bank like always.
And here's Mrs. MILF who works at the Realtor Office and all the teenage boys have a crush on.
-Ding-
I never understood why he uses that bell, I'm sitting right in front of him.
I accept my breakfast and start eating. People come in an out, and I smile

politely

and pretend that my mouth is full so I don't have to say anything. I eat steadily and am finished quickly.
I go to the counter and make all the correct responses to the owner's banter as I pay.
$11.50
my total is always $11.50.
Without the excuse of eating I'm obliged to socialize so I go outside and say hello to the smokers.
After the initial greeting I stand around and laugh in all the
appropriate
places. I can usually only take about fifteen minutes of this and then say my goodbyes. I wave to the owner and everyone in the
Coffee Shop
and begin the walk home.
The same walk that it's always been.
I pass the same people,
get barked at by the same dogs,
and come home to the same house
with the same alcoholic father
and the same drug addict brother.
Then I sit at the same rickety table that's seen years of the same abuse, and pull out my same beat up notebook full of the same depressing thoughts, and write the same goddamn run on sentences that I've been writing since the beginning of
Time.

The End.