Meaningless T-Shirt

I’m in a too-fancy café in Mexico. Or maybe I just perceive it to be too fancy. They are blasting European house remixes of Depeche Mode instrumentals like we’re in a fucking club. The woman at the front is beautiful.

I may not have enough money in my pocket to pay for my Americano.

The vocals just started. Tell me how does it feel…

It feels goofy. I’m a little nervous, but also none of this feels real. Ah well. Plow ahead, see what happens.

My cup feels fat and cumbersome and I clank it against its companion plate, which has collected a kiss of a brown ring. I apply for jobs in Japan and Korea. I make minor, insignificant adjustments to hollow cover letters and convince myself that a single word is what will make someone over there extend a hand and pull me out of this via visa, employment, stable income.

They tried to show me a menu when I first walked in. Were there prices? I don’t remember. I assume an Americano is cheap, but I now fear the bill. The ceilings are really high here. It’s well lit, all gorgeous sunlight. It feels like a café was installed in the Great Gatsby. The Great Mexican Gatsby. Featuring Depeche Mode. What have I done?

100% Cotton.
True to size.