An unidentified Moment

An unidentified purple liquid in a Bonaqua water bottle; litchi flavoured, I wonder briefly what it is and then I notice the man with curly, peppered hair; the bottle stands next to his desk and I realise I don’t want to know anymore. A room full of generic mediocrity depresses me for a moment and in a moment I’m lifted up onto a pedestal of my own creation; of course I’m better. Of course.

I’m so hot.

I can’t shake the feeling of blindness in this room, some kind of evasion; cynicism and knowledge going hand in hand as I twirl my hair around my fingers countless times, I can’t say what comfort that brings me; now, it feels better than just sitting here.

An overweight blonde two rows up speaks, not unlike a child; an insecure girl too eager to please, too fragile to live. I cringe, I don’t know why. I can’t help but wonder when last she felt attractive... When last a man looked twice. I’m hot; distracted.

But not distracted enough to ignore the young coloured man outside cleaning chairs, or the geriatric smoking a Vogue Slim on a bench in the sun, and I draw many conclusions as to why they’re there doing these things in this moment, and then I wonder the same of myself.
What am I doing here?

The day is warm, hot and getting hotter, as I imagine the Serengeti to be mid February and the second I notice the smoke I hear the alarm. Surprisingly I don’t start, dazed, I get up and follow the bodies trying to leave through the door as one person. Lethargy trumps panic and I glide beside no one, I can barely see them in the yonder, in the smoke.

Eventually I reach the rest outside, and I rest. My eyes burn and I rub them as I hear the ironically chilling sound of sirens.
I must look shocked, scared, because the overweight woman puts her arms around me, apparently this fire is more serious than I’d thought.