An unconventional prose.

Last night I dreamed of castles in the sky and railroad tracks cutting through the ocean.

I see you as a stranger wearing a filthy coat. You're always just staning there, sauntering to and fro, looking through a restaurant window. Behind the fingerprint covered display window displaying the daily lunch special and we deliever sticker sponsored by postmates.

Why don't you ever take that thing off?

You finally do and sit at a small table. I can see you now. You're playing with your hair; your fingers dancing around clumpy, oily tresses while your thumb fiddles with a cracked phone screen.

I work on Wednesdays and I'm afraid to call in sick. I already did last week just to sit in bed with a bad hangover.

You gave the menu back to my coworker and curled the edge of the paper placemat one last time before standing up in one impatient sweep. The legs of the chair let out a wooden bang against the cement floor of the restaurant.

You were already swinging your dirty garment over your back like some sort of pathetic cape, the sort that anti-hero might wear.

You never order anything when you wait for me. No cookies, no coffee, no daily special crumb cake. You're a cheapskate, but a proud one. Unlike the usual customers that come in and look at the menu right after taking a piss or dumping a load in our tiny one stall bathroom. They want to seem polite while they take an average 5 second look at the menu. They are afraid of being rude, but more are afraid of being labeled as such.

"Oh, you don't have gluten-free desserts? I'll have to come back anyway sometime." They might say.

Fuck you, you weren't going to order anything anyway, you psuedo celiac.

That's what I hate about most people. They only do certain things out of guilt.

But not you. You have always been the flight to my fight. The habit of making me prolong things just so I can have another moment with you. Moments with you made me feel like a drunk taking the last drink at the bar before the lights came on. I have never felt so desperate to ingest one last moment with you than I did today.

Today, I did work. Unfortunately, I was running late and you, as the bartender in my life, already closed out the tab.