The strangers at the corner table

There were two women at The Grind yesterday — corner table, the one by the window that I always want but never get first. I wasn’t trying to listen. But the place was quiet enough, and one of them said, clearly and without any particular drama: ‘I just got tired of being the person who makes it easier for everyone else to avoid the conversation.’ And then they kept talking about something else entirely, and I sat there with my coffee going cold.

The strangers at the corner table

I turned it over the whole walk home. Still turning it over today. The thing is, I don’t think she was angry when she said it — she just sounded done. Settled into a decision. There’s a particular kind of calm that comes after you stop waiting for someone else to name the thing first, and I recognized it even though I was just an accidental audience. This whole week has had that energy, honestly. The Fourth of July gathering, getting the workshop budget approved, the archive coordination calls with Margaret’s contacts — a lot of things I’d been circling finally just… landing. Less circling.

the window does all the heavy lifting honestly

Jake’s on a late shift tonight so I have the apartment to myself, which is rare enough in summer that I’m treating it like a small event. Glass of water. The fan going. No agenda. I keep coming back to that woman’s voice, though. The flatness of it. Not defeated — just clear. I think sometimes other people’s moments of clarity are the most useful ones, because you get to absorb them without having earned them the hard way. Free clarity. I’ll take it.