The past month has been nothing but a string of disappointments and painful revelations. And last Sunday it reached its culmination.

"Look at that guy over there. He ordered a venti mocha frapp and a cheesecake, and he's barely touched either."

She shrugged and continued sipping her tea. "His money. His choice."

I made a face and pulled out a cigarette.

"I thought you'd quit."

"I did. For a while. And then life decided to throw me a fucking curveball, changed it's mind, and smashed the ball into my face instead."

She set down her cup and looked me in the eye.

"I've never seen you so bitter."

I blew a cloud of smoke into the air, watching it swirl in the light wind, then fade away.

"You would be, too, if you were me."

"Is it that bad?"

I paused to take a sip of coffee; extra double shot, black.

"It's like being a child on Christmas morning. There are a hundred presents under the tree. Your mind is reeling with hope and expectation. Your imagination runs wild trying to guess what each box contains. Then, as you turn the gifts over in your hand one by one, you find that not a single one is for you."

She reached out to touch my hand. I pulled it away.

"I don't want your pity."

She gave me a hurt look. "That pride of yours..."

"Is all I have left," I cut in.

"And what about your family and friends?"

"They'll be there for me. To comfort and console me. But they can't help me."

I look away, then say slowly.

"I want more than what this life can offer"

The words filled me with disgust. They went against everything I'd been taught. Against everything I believed in about life and happiness. And yet they rang true. I want more then they could ever offer.

For the next few minutes, we were silent, save for the rasping of my lighter.

"You've changed."

"I know."

"I barely even know you."

I smirked, "Stealing lines from George Lucas now?"

She smiled in spite of herself.

"I envy you, you know that?"

I raised an eyebrow, "I find that unlikely."

She shook her head.

"I don't envy what you've been through. But I envy what you've become."

"And what am I?"

"A person with ambition. A person who's willing to give everything up to get what he wants."

"Give up everything? And what makes you think that? I can't even give up cigarettes and coffee."

"You will. I know you will. I saw your face when you paid your bill. I saw how you looked at your cigartte with distaste. I bet that you haven't enjoyed a single puff."

I looked at the stub I'd just put out. She was right. All I saw in that ashtray was burnt money.

"I've already cut corners. Everyday I eat nothing but rice and tuna. Coffee is instant. Cigarettes, at most four in a day. Sometimes none at all. I cancelled my gym membership. I stopped playing at net cafe's. Hell, I don't even go online. Not even in the office where it's free."

She was holding my hand then. I hadn't noticed.

"And you'll cut back even more. You'll eat three cups of rice with half a can of tuna. you'll drink nothing but water. This will be your last Starbucks Sunday. You'll not touch another cigarette. You'll work like a dog from dawn til dusk."

"Just talking about it makes me feel ill."

"You've done it before."

I sighed.

"I guess you know what this means."

She nodded. "This is your goodbye week, isn't it? You're going to do everything you want to do. Dates, drinking, parties, game nights and all that. Then you're going to disappear... Again."

I gave her a wry smile.

"Why must you always be so dramatic?" she said, shaking her head.

She leaned in and gave me a soft kiss on the cheek. Then she picked up her bag and turned to go.

"Good luck."

I watched as she stepped into her car and drove away.

After a while I gulped down the last of my coffee. There were a few stray coffee grinds in it. They felt gritty against my tongue.

They were bitter.

I really ought to stop blogging under the influence of alcohol. As I was reading through my previous entry I kept thinking "My super-ego is fucking emo."

 The conversation was real, but overly dramatized. Here's a better one.

 

Me: "What's your ultimate goal in life?"

She: "To find peace and contentment. Preferrably in a small house by the beach with a handsome loving husband and a few kids to match."

Me: "Permission to gag, ma'am."

She: -flashes a one finger salute- "What's yours?"

Me: "Ultimate goal? To get filthy, stinking rich. To live in a classy penthouse suite so huge you'd need a map to find your way through. To own over thirty cars, yet never use them. To be the only one to arrive at formal events on a Harley. To party all night long and sleep once the sun goes down. To love, make love to, and fall out of love with every woman I meet. To live fast, die young, become cryogenically frozen, and live again in a future where man has found a cure for death."

She: "How specific. You'e been thinking of this for a long time, haven't you?"

Me: "Years, dear."

She: "Superficial bastard."

Me: "And damned proud of it." 

Spent a day people-watching. Theatre Mall is a prime spot as always and I was lucky enough to spot a rare breed: The Punk Goth. She was either Asian, round faced and with a body like Amy Lee. Ears adorned with 6 rings at the least, chinese(?)-symbol tat on the small of her back. Heavy purple eye-shadow, pale purple lipstick, a shades-of-gray striped arm warmer (as if you need one in this heat), a sheer top with a purple tube underneath. The best part of her outfit though was the black leather half skirt, the purple cyling shorts riding halfway down her thigh, and the knee-high boots. What's more, she was totally out of place in the Promenade walk and that made her even more eye-catching. I wish I'd brought a sketch book at the time. Damn. Now I'll have to settle for this pale imitation.