i felt like an island

I felt like an island on Saturday. When it's before ten in the morning on the weekend, time seems to crawl. When you're standing in the entry of the cafe down the street and waiting, I think it stops. The sign on the wall near the entrance claims "53 Maximum Occupancy" in faded letters. People crowd around the door, listening for their names, looking longingly at the coffee counter.

You can see everyone from the doorway - the elderly couple sharing pancakes and bacon with strong black coffee, college kids who couldn't sleep anymore for the headaches pushing migas around on their plates, the waitress with with the nose ring who's been on shift since 4am bustling between them all. The smell of breakfast makes it hard to wait for a seat. A young girl in pigtails lets her mother know that pancakes are the only thing that can cure her hunger at least four times before I'm led to my table. She interjects into her parents' conversation about Important Things, only to be shushed while the grownups talk. I think she just wanted to be a part of it.