“Why are we still at this cafe?!”
“I asked you: want to go someplace else? And you said: no, the cafe is walking distance to my house, I don't want to drive. So here we are.”
“But this place is terrible.”
“Then stop picking it.”
Why did I pick it again, I thought. I had explicitly stated last time that I would find a new meeting spot. I looked around. A man sat alone at one table reading the newspaper, his coffee sat in front of him with steam rising up. How did he get hot coffee, I wondered. Bastard must have gotten some from a fresh brew. I began to think of ways to injure this man for having fresh coffe when Christine interrupted me.
“So, why did you call me here?”
“I've been having trouble sleeping.”
“So, I can't focus anymore. I constantly have an irritating headache. I think I'm losing my grip on reality.”
I stared into her beautiful gray eyes and wondered what she was going to say next. She sat there for what seemed like an eternity as she pondered what to say. Finally, after sipping some of her drink, she said, “You just need a good night's sleep. Maybe you should start by not drinking so much coffee.”
I looked at my coffee which was lukewarm now. Perhaps she was right. I pushed it away.
“You should also try clearing your mind each night.”
“You mean like, meditating?”
“You can call it what ever you want, just try not to think about your story, or about anything really.”