10.07.2011 atomic.

There’s a woman sitting outside the window, crying. Her lips are shaking, her shoulders and convulsing and her bottom lip seems to be quivering three times faster than her speech appears to be coming out. Behind her oversized aviator sunglasses I imagine her eyes are overflowing with whatever sadness she has brought to the glimmering silver café table she sits at with her friends. The one woman with a low cut tank top contradicts her choice of shirt with a home-knit scarf and a white man with pointedly tattered clothing is also donning a Muslim-like head scarf. Furthermore boggling than the attire of this strange company is the very obvious fact that only a small pane of glass separates my world from theirs. It is only this window between my quiet afternoon of motivated work on my thesis over an oversized mug of apple cider and their moment of smoking, wild hand gestures, and spilling emotion on the sidewalk. The glass allows sunshine to pass through, allows gazes to penetrate- but conversation and understanding are unable to pass.