The World Passes Me By

I sit down at my regular table, three chairs circle a round plain table, but I only take up one. The cafe faces the street. The only cover from the weather is the umbrella above my head, so the autumn air nips my cheeks. In... Out. I like the crisp air entering and exiting my lungs. It makes me nostalgic, recalling the suburban Chicago neighborhood where I occupied my childhood. In the colder months your breath would leave your lips in a cloud of steam, and you could see the normally transparent and ever adapting oxygen supply. I can't see my breath here in my new home in the city where the sun is always shining and rain is a blessing. New city, new people, and yet... Familiar. I suppose wherever you go, people and cities always have common threads. Cities grow, people bustle along the concrete streets. The common threads are comforting considering I was practically plucked out of my hometown and into a new and alien place. As I remember my home, I watch the people move along going in all sorts of directions. An uptown girl in designer boots and an air of confidence I know is false. I know she's full of it because I've practiced the half smile she wears in the mirror before. And old couple, the woman on the elderly man's right arm, his smile is full of adoration as he looks at her. I ponder their stories. Where they came from, their hopes, their secrets. The people on you brush on the streets you rarely think twice about. When they pass me, I never cross their thoughts twice, I'm sure. I am a number. Am I that insignificant?