Cantankerously sans inspiration

P.S. Read at your own risk.

A slow sliding of a drop from the top of a condensed Pepsi bottle to the bottom of it. One after the other. What a beautiful trail it forms on its way down. In its hurry to reach the bottom, it speeds past others. Cutting through the slow pokes, fusing with the fast paced and sometimes totally ignoring the still ones. Is its mission accomplished when it reaches the wooden table top? Or is this just the beginning of a tedious journey? A journey. Oh help me because I am so very bored.

A solid looking table that could do with some coaster using. The stains on it tell a lot about the kind of treatment the table goes through every day, day after day and also how meticulous the dhaba waiters are. Cigarette ashes are scattered unevenly over the surface, forming interesting looking puddles wherever they are met with the condensed liquid or spilled drinks. Lean over to place your elbows on it at your own risk please. Clumsy regulars who were too busy flirting, making a point, laughing, texting, drowning their misery in the cold drinks on a hot sunny afternoon, to even notice. The glass of lime juice is untouched and looks a little out of place. I wouldn't want to be that glass of Vitamin C and pulp. It garners too much attention and starts off quite a few conversations on the wrong foot. The table top is scratched up from all the rough use. And in some places it is even engraved. That must be flattering. To have individuals taking out the time and effort to mark it with initials, important sounding philosophical messages or just something in crude and angry strokes. The harsh and low lighting doesn't do anything to flatter it. The conversation surrounding the table is mind numbingly uninteresting.

It is getting painfully tiring to force a laugh at appropriate time and to listen to the same stories again and again. The onslaught of smoke on the sensory organs is not helping. How much more time before it would be okay to gather one's belongings and leave? Time is ticking real slowly now. Almost mockingly. A story is being related to the group. A cacophonous voice starts with the annoying details. Details that change with every narration. I choose to concentrate on the condense again. At least that isn't predictable.