Cigarette and Filter Coffee

He took another puff of his cigarette and blew a whiff of it at me because it annoys me. He started to giggle, his mouth wide open, his face and body tighten, voice gets louder and he looked like the funny smile meme child. I’d forget about being annoyed looking at him laugh. He got back to his cigarette, tried really hard to focus on making rings out of the smoke as we spoke about random things.
I watched the steam rise from our filter coffee glasses, our open dosa arrived on a biodegradable plate made from some tree bark or leaves. The dosa was topped with mashed potatoes, covered in some red masala powder that adds a sexy kick and it’s served with either a groundnut or coconut chutney that can compete with an orgasm.
He tore a piece of the dosa, filled a descent amount of the mashed and seasoned potatoes, dipped it in the chutney and put this heavenly combination in his mouth and chewed it like he was putting a show. I took a bite but knew I couldn’t manage to put the same show, so I just enjoyed my dosa and watched him eat and talk.
I took another sip of the filter coffee and there was maybe one or two sips left, he’d finished the dosa and was lighting his second cigarette. One of the cat that lived in the hotel made it’s way towards us, tested both our laps and in the end decided to sleep inside my helmet, just like the last time I was here with her.
I’m glad him and her are getting along very well, I’m for once not worried about him taking her away from me but later do I realise it was inevitable.
He was a part of my life, on a daily basis. We met everyday, spent a lot of time together, when we didn’t meet we’d call or text each other or he wasn’t around, or texting me, or sending me things to look at, listen to, or comment on . When he wasn’t involved in any sense, I’m usually trying to write about something, other than him. I’d sit and think about when he’d leave and how I’d have just her to hold me, or pick up the pieces.
He left and so did she.


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