I Don't Care

It's a crazy cold day, the sidewalks slippery since it recently started snowing. Yet I made it over here without any bruises or flesh wounds. I placed my order a while ago and as I'm waiting for my food to arrive I take a look around. Posters of the Godfather, Scarface and Goodfellas are proudly framed and displayed on the walls. I look outside on the street and think about films that I could watch later today.

Suddenly the main ceiling lights are switched off and I turn around to see if there's anything wrong. But there isn't. It's just six o'clock and that is, I guess, when they let a slim candle on each table be the only force of illumination. I can't say I like the romantic touch at all, it's rather inappropriate, but then, I don't care much, either. It doesn't matter, because people will look over to my table anyway.

What's definitely more annoying is the party of twelve at the next table. A dozen mid-thirties having the time of their lives. Their laughing and chatting is much louder than the music that doesn't quite make its way from the speakers to my ears. I don't like Eros Ramazotti, not a bit, but I would rather listen to his annoying voice than having twelve hungry grown-up babies in my ear.

Finally the waitress brings over some alcohol. I ordered a glass of house wine alongside a pizza prosciutto with extra salami. The wine came first. And given that all I had all day was a few fists full of cereals and some coffee I can soon feel the red liquid goodness spread inside my system. Ah, yes. Dinner by myself in an Italian restaurant on a Sunday night. Who needs a reason to drink?