(This is a piece of creative writing inspired by the famous painting below by Edward Hopper)
Friday 18th – 3am
Using up all your weekend evenings cooked up alone in a coffee shop would be any regular folk’s idea of a complete waste of time. But the weight of the week behind me turns these evening into precious moments that become a blessing; a time to collect your thoughts and disregard those around you is enough to diminish all those so-called important thoughts you drag around in your mind on some tireless Tuesday morning. Yet, my idea of taking time for myself is not only to respire, but also to observe those of other lives around. I am a people watcher; an observer; examiner; inspector… I see, study, view, watch, witness. Perhaps it developed by habit of visiting this very same bar one idle afternoon and witnessing myself fall in love with each and every personality that walks through that very door. But nobody has hit me quite like this one.
She beautifully placed a fresh cigarette between her red blood lips, clutching hold of her newly brewed coffee. Black with no sugars. I had to carefully observe it be made, for she had not spoken her order, signifying that her visit here may be a regular occurrence. The gentlemen she was accompanied by was the only individual in which had sat a stool in the Phillies bar on a single Friday evening and not once crossed my mind. For I did not care what he did for a living, for I did not care what kept him awake at night, and for I did not wonder what he had passion for or what made him tick; all common thoughts of every other people-watcher. Instead, my eyes were fixated on what sat ahead; the most alluring human being in which I had ever gained the privilege of perceiving. Casual mind wonderings of how a taste of her life just may be developed into an overwhelming urge and a tremendous longing to feel the feeling of how that ruby red dress she wore so elegantly feels beneath the palms of my hands, or how the ringlets of her hair fell between my fingers. Her breath-taking image was simply one that clouded away every other thought in the room.
I did not intend to speak a single word to the woman in red sipping from her coffee and toking from her cigarette; for I knew she was happy; content. Her eyes danced and her smile grew. I would not destroy that. I would enjoy this very presence whilst I could, before she left that door she entered for the first and no doubt the final time.
A piece of writing by Ellie James, inspired by Edward Hopper's Nighthawks painting.