A woman, in a cafe: the day is sqeezing out like drops from tree leaves after a storm has cleared away. slow steady drops, each one grading into darkening dusk, without separable moments. one long moment, quieter than other days, less filled with noise and occurances. You can feel either satisfied slowness or a squeezed-out longing in this quiet afternoon. Sitting in front of a mirror, exchanging places with the passers and with other dwellers in the afternoon seated at other tables. the mirror watches all passively, vaguely drifting from here to there, without coing to a focal sharp analysis or vantage. possibly the mirror imagines to be inside the shoes of various lives passing by. I join in the mirror's indifferent gaming, putting my imagination into the other lives and play through various situations i guess to represent the lives of my puppeteered hosts. I am not wishing my own life to be different. there is no bitter disillusioned regret on me. It is only a lazy game, wishing myself into other clothes, jobs, lovers, children. I return to my own life, the passing of the time speeds up to a normal beat, I slip out of the cafe into the rhythm of the walkers on the street, aware that time was stopped only a moment ago. I hope for more sticky moments on other languid afternoons.