Indigo

I had been sitting in Indigo for hours, having enjoyed the pseudo-asian cuisine and now working in the pseudo-zen atmosphere of the restaurant whose mottos, written in English, read "more than just healthy fast food" and "food like a kiss"- a bit pretentious, but one of the few places in the city where I can relax and work for longer periods of time.

A woman glanced at me. Why did she do that? Was it because she is lonely? Because I opened the door for her in the restroom? I looked away and felt pity toward the woman, as whatever fleeting phantasies of me that may have gone through her head would never be fulfilled.

Cocky bastard.

I heard her and her girlfriend speaking, and thought I heard the words ,,Musik" and ,,Student", as if they were talking about me... but perhaps this was an illusion produced by my ego, apparently unwounded by the bad haircut from a few days earlier.

I stood up and walked toward the counter. A man looked at me. Why? Due to my darker hair and skin? Is he a conservative, racist Salzburger, who can't stand the amount of foreigners that has polluted the city? Or was he simply curious about my formal attire? I smiled at him. He did not smile back and instead returned to reading his paper.

I wish people would stop looking at me.

and yet I look at them.