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Javas sitting. Its raining outside. Huge drops, long straight streams of water falling heaving to earth. Inside it is warm and full. People come in and out. Umbrellas march apst the windows. Faceless. Turkish coffee is delicious. Warm, thick and sweet with a hint of cloves. Pour it into tiny cups and slowly sip its warm goodness. I see so many people I know. I should sit here more often. I would get more work done. Maybe. Why do I procrastinate so much. Why is it so hard for me to get any work done? I try so hard. No I don’t. I have no motivation and I am tired all the time. A man walks past with a cane. He is younger than me. WHy does he have a cane. What happened? What do people think about me with my leg brace and limp? Do I arouse similar questions in their minds? This whole experience has made me so much more mindful of people with disabilities and handicaps. They are no different from me now. Why even consider that they are . Yet I digress. The line ebbs and flows. People chat with the baristas, people wait silently for their coffee. In and out. Umbrellas up, umbrellas down. Come in dripping wet. Stay in to dry off. Go back out. Eastman students all preppy and dressed up carrying varing shapes and sizes of instruments. Acting like they are more important than anyone else. The elite of Gibbs street. But are they? Random thoughts. Javas sitting.
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