Internet cafe

[nny]

I collected all my little silver coins to be here. My room needs tidying - perhaps there's another hour scattered on my floor somewhere in five pence pieces. I should look for them, carefully stow my clothes where they should be and try to find space for the books I can't come back from town without, no matter how poor I might be (Haruki Murakami and Patrick O'Brian, latest), but I need space. And I find it in a crowded internet cafe, isn't that strange? Head space, maybe. The whole of the internet to shuffle through, even though I never go very far. I like it here, with the people I've found.

My room is too close to the street. It's strange to share the lives of people I've never met; just for an instant. Making stories about them, listening to their accents that are so unlike mine and so unlike the Welsh of lilting and music. My room fills up with their aftershave, and it's funny how often I want to tap someone on the shoulder on the street and say 'less is more' only now I can't escape. I attempt to disguise it with burning sandalwood and my room smells like my room smells like my room smells like my room - four bedrooms but I'm still me. How I wish, so often, that I weren't.

I can't escape the world in my room unless the windows are shut, and with the windows shut I can't breathe.

Comments

[chains-of-irony.livejournal.com]

Which Haruki Murakami are you reading?

[villainny.livejournal.com]

Sputnik sweetheart.

I also have the wind up bird chronicles to be getting on with.

[chains-of-irony.livejournal.com]

Cool. I got hooked when I picked up Norweigen Wood, (though, first, it was purely for Beatlessquee.)

Glad you found the money for the rent! I was worried, there.