An empty bus

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How should I inspire myself?

I am sat in a café... shouldn't this be enough?

How is my script going? I think I was writing one...

Does a brain exist? What is creativity? How do people learn and create? And doesn't that poor man's back hurt from bending over his laptop like that? 

Actually... I sure do wonder what he's writing? He seems so gripped and focused over his work... What music is he listening to on those tiny, music transporting devices? And oh, those lights beside him? Percieving reflections of the busy town running, while I sit and sip my tea. So contrasting...

Perhaps the purple haired girl can teach me to smoke? I'll carry a pack with me at all times... allowing a cigarette conversation to commence with every slight sense of interest. Oh my... woulnd't that just be nice? "Do you have a light?" 3 to be precise? I can start your smoke with a match if you'd like? While I do that, can we discuss a little about life?

A piano I hear? A stupid melody of nothing at all... a face not to be seen, a melody left unknown. And an empty bus strode past like a lass in high heels, thinking she's a blast. Oh, my. I think I crave a certain intimacy only available with strangers. Love me, dear darlings. For once I know you, things won't be so secret. 

Though life seems short, I have all the time in the world to know you. I just need to manage my timing because nobody knows when the lights will go out... when the smoke will disappear... or when the piano will fade...

You have time.

When is the right time - is the question.

Gab - the time traveller.