The afternoon’s stretching with us, sort of lazy. That in between time sandwiched between those experiences breakfast is a fading memory, dinner is far away. Not too hungry, but hungry enough that, when you smell something good, that hunger will go away.
Like, someone says fried chicken rice and suddenly it’s really hard to concentrate on anything else. You know the type of place tiny shop, ceiling fans whirring, a radio on low. The rice is in a pile, steaming, and the the chicken is cracking under the prongs. Without many words, you all sit down. You may, or may not, have a friend with you.
Juice gets ordered without thinking. Ice clinks in the cup. Bright color. The sweet sour variety that makes your mouth water before the first sip of it. The table would have bits of tissue paper, maybe a stain or two. You wipe it off subconsciously.
Outside, the traffic hums but does not shout. Inside, it’s slow. Not quiet exactly, just... easy. The afternoon that doesn’t beg. You eat, possibly look at your phone, possibly not.
No rush to leave. No real plan after. It’s not a meal you need it’s just one that fills a space. A day feeling a little more solid. Just enough salt, just enough cold juice, just enough time to not do too much of anything.

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