you sip your water, no lemon, minus ice and shed a few tears and pen metaphysical poetry. you are so sorry for them all, all those you see around you crying into their coffee and plain toasted bagels, and you feel pity that breaks your heart.
but not the girl in the red, because you differ on that Keats poem, and she likes the color green, which you dont much care for. she can frost her damn bagel with salt for all you care. it doesnt pay to associate with her kind, we all have to please our public.
she's guilty of caring too much, and they are judging her without a jury. the sentence is on everyone's lips, but talking would ruin it's potency. leave her the corner table and with your eyes, burn an A on her chest- because thats what she deserves. and you wink a few more drops for the ones who never loved you. remembering, it's better to do the popular thing and make it look like charity, than to make true charity popular.