I’m drinking a coffee I ordered by mistake in Prague airport. I thought I asked for an espresso but instead I have a really tall coffee with a bouffant of whipped cream. The coffee tastes like it’s exhausted / two men sat at a nearby table.
I sit and watch planes taxi on the wet, autumn morning tarmac. The big sign that I saw from the bus; the one that said “SkyPort”. Is that what they call it here / sat very close together.
Because the sky is the destination and our jets never come down / their legs are almost touching.
Reverie interrupted by the waiter. He has one of those barbell facial piercings that go through the upper-bridge of the nose. Brings me a ham and Emmental cheese panini on counterfeit bread. Places it on the table before me. Avoids making eye contact. And walks back towards the bar / one leans over to the other.
The scene is soundtracked by characterless dance music made by an Italian robot w/ dick-head haircut + rebellious leather biker jacket / they go for this kiss.
Bad coffee. Worse food. But not bad myself / hands clutched chastely beneath the table where I can see it.
