Coffeehouse antics.

I was sitting inside of a coffeehouse the other day, buried in books, my mind wandering to places far better, far prettier than the words Emily Bronte. Her words, dark and descriptive were frustrating, boring even... So I get up, drag myself outside. I’m standing there, silently observing downtown, standing in the sun, freezing when I am suddenly startled by a woman’s shaky voice.
Her clothes were ragged, she was clinging to a plastic yogurt container, top off, filled with change, with her worn wrinkled hands.
"Excuse me, I don’t want to sound rude, but do you know if today is Sunday morning or Monday Afternoon?"
It was, in fact, neither. It was Sunday Afternoon.
So I told her and she looked at me, quietly whispered, "thanks" and walked away, down the street, eventually dissipating into the darkness of the downtown.

I wondered what kind of life you live if you don't know the time, the date, how far removed from society you have to be....