Froggacuda's Weblog

I sit in the corner, brooding.
people look once then look away quickly.
no-one sits by me.
I am kept company by a pepper shaker.
everyone wonders what drug I am on,
brooding with my chin on my forearms,
glaring at the fake wood table.
under beetled brows I’ve got orange eyes.
one hand toys with the paper napkin
and I consider spilling the silverware to the ground.
I pick a number, then slide sideways
and start counting the pieces of gum
on the bottom of the table.