Like a bee to honey, I produce sweet things from bits I picked up somewhere during the day.
“One piece of cake, s’il vous plâit.”
Being pretentious, knowing it, feeling like it, and boldly expressing it, I order cake.
“What a great day for some sugar, don’t you think, sugar?”
I glance at my purple-dyed poodle. The poodle winks back.
“I shall compensate you for this cake if it meets my expectations of this extraordinary occasion, me having sugar.”
The poor lady that produced the cake bows and hands over the plate. Naturally, without looking into the magnificent and gleaming eyes of mine.
“I will retire into the corner. Bring the cake with some hot water to wash down the sugar. Preferably, put some fragrant leaves into the water and let it steep.”
The waiter forgot that he was staring at me so he quickly turns away to rush for the hot water.
“Well, well, well. Well.”
My fork digs into the cake and I pick up the whole piece. I inspect it and see that it is indeed glittering with sugar.
“Ah yes, the opium of the well-nourished.”
I part my hair and place the wedge of cake on top, facing the lady behind the counter and the waiter in front of me.
“I have seen it, the ridiculous nature of craving. More. Sugar.”
I realise that I haven’t touched my piece of cake. I am sitting on my cloud, I am the cafe, the lady and the waiter. I am the sugar and the water.
Maybe this rush is not for everyone.