Tea cup.

If a cup of tea
is no one's
cup of tea,
Is it then
A cup of tea ?

Lost

Its one in the morning. I roll down the window of my car. The cold wind helps keep the drowsiness at bay. Apart from a lack of sleep, it really is wonderful to drive down a road at night, without all the chaos of daytime. No assholes to navigate, only potholes.

I drive past a bunch of boys, in tattered clothes, carrying a bucket of white paint. They have been retouching the zebra stripes on the road. All are barefoot. They are laughing and howling.

I feel a sting of ... pain ? Guilt? Sympathy ? I don't know. Its one in the morning and these boys are awake working. I don't think they got to catch up on their sleep during the day. More like they were slogging equally hard.

When will they sleep then? Where will they go? How far do they stay? How will they get there at this hour ? Do they even have a home? I think of all these things as I drive by. Towards home. I feel lost. Here is a world that is alien to me. Made of things and people that I hardly think about. I am unable to combine all these things into one big cohesive view of this world that I live in

Its a good thing, I think that people surround themselves with delusions of order and purpose and with a sense of being able to make sense of it all. I drive on and know that I will forget about this soon, but just at that moment I can't seem to find one reason for any of this. All this 'living' that I carry on day in and day out.