An Unproven Morning

The city I arrived in still wore the look of sleep. The coffee I bought at a stall outside the station went lukewarm the moment it was in my hand. Only after misreading the signs three times did I understand. That this city was not waiting for me. That knowing no one here was, in its way, a comfort. Sunlight flowed slowly along the escalator's handrail. The buildings along the street each had a morning of their own. At the pace the coffee cooled in its cup, I blended little by little into this place. The unfamiliar scenery gave off no warmth, and so it offered an ease that asked me not to lean on it too long. The last sip tasted like whatever you might choose to call it. Like that spot where no one had proven the morning.