On a metal table on a brick walkway

Strangers stream past me on their way to wherever strangers stream. There's a constant flow of humanity all around me as I sip a third coffee, my price of admission to sit in this metal chair whose four legs are atop bricks that were laid here in 2009. 

I'm transcribing a candidate forum from the other night for a story. It is a holiday but I don't feel like relaxing or doing nothing. I feel there is a great deal that needs work both in my life and in my professional life. 

I crane my head from left to right to witness all of these humans I don't know and wonder what their lives are like and what they dream of and what they are afraid of and what they are interested in. The candidates' chatter is passing over me as I type these words, sipping my coffee, waiting to hear if there's anything else I need to write into the narrative.

Yesterday I worked a wedding at Trump Winery and there were many strangers who traveled here for that event. I believe one of the people from my table just strolled past but I didn't leap up to go ask any questions. These days I am not much of the interviewing type, but more of the transcribing type. 

I dislike that there are so many strangers and that I try to keep people acquaintances more than friends because I'm not sure I have much to offer anyone at this point. I realized today that I stood someone up on Friday night and I'm disappointed but that's the way it always seems to work out. I put work and work and work first before anything else, and I put off the little things such as eliminating the vines that are choking the southwest corner of my roof. 

People walk past and I sit here and watch the patrons at the diner next door to me while the candidates address the current situation in my community and the difficult conversations we may or may not be having. I am not the interviewing type anymore. I watch the river of humanity go by and age on the shore waiting for the next flood that will forever change the banks.