In an empty café I sat transfixed to the chair, my left hand feeling the lukewarm coffee cup, my right hand spinning a plastic pen quite adroitly without my knowing it, eyes straining on a novel, The Unbearable Lightness of Being. The coffee was brought to me not long ago, but its contents barely consumed. The waiter stole a curious glance at me, whether a friendly one or not I chose not to bother. The exchange of my hard-earned dollar for a cup of coffee was not so much in the allure of the taste or aroma but the justification to occupy a sitting place by the window in an air-conditioned room. On a Friday night the café is usually empty but a scattered few lonely souls. The waitresses and waiters, glad of their having free time on hand, chatted enthusiastically about the true spirit of Russian vodka.

Taking a short break from reading, allowed my brain to become obtuse, I placed my hand on the window overlooking the four-way intersection. The coolness emitting from the window construed a comforting thought: The marine breeze has finally overtaken the summer heat that had smoldered the earth throughout the day hours. Hereabout I abandoned the profundity of Sabina and Tomas and fell to random thoughts.

So much for random thoughts; the first thing that came to my mind was the contour of Sun’s face, the particular way of clothing he is chosen to veil himself. I hadn’t seen him for over four years, and the artificial memory of his external features were slowly been sanded away by the cruelty of time, notwithstanding the cruelty he has inflicted upon me. So real and lifelike was the image of he that I felt as if he were sitting in opposite, speaking trite and cajoling in his usual fashion. How has he done me wrong, through no faults of mine.

Much to my chagrin the night is still young. I paid and gathered everything up in my backpack and up and left the café. The coffee cup remained full; my conscience screamed half-empty.