The Temperature of an Unfamiliar Afternoon

I took the seat by the window. Sunlight passed through the glass and rested on the table, and the coffee had already gone lukewarm. The street of yesterday and the street of today are different. The stones underfoot, the unfamiliar voices from the end of the alley, the scent of trees brushing past in the wind. Everything is unfamiliar, and that unfamiliarity is fine. I started to write something in my notebook and stopped. Time flows, and the clouds drift slowly on. I am here, and here is not waiting for me. As the afternoon nears its end, I get up and step out the door. Behind me, the curtain sways in the wind.