Let's make a date, you and me.

We'll meet at the table beside the window but I'll get there first. I'll order the sweet and scalding hot milk tea that I like and I'll read while I wait. I'm one chapter into Mr Darcy, Vampyre. And several into the unauthorised biography of Anna Wintour. And halfway into The Sartorialist. But I think I'll switch to No one belongs here more than you. for this exercise. It's quirkier, weirder, more pretentious and more extraordinary, no? I'm having a Miranda July moment after re-watching Me and You and Everyone We Know in a pretty but slightly old hotel room in Bangkok at 5am in the morning. I didn't really like it back then, when I saw it in the cinema. But I do now. Either I've gotten older or stranger. Oh, but I digress. I tend to do that. When you arrive, I'll be slouched in the seat with my legs stretched out, both hands holding the book open while its spine is propped on the table. You'll sit down diagonally opposite me and adopt the same bad posture. Our eyes will meet for a fleeting moment. You will take out your book and your drink (pre-ordered at the counter before you approached the table) will arrive. We will read. We won't say a single word. We may sneak glances or we may appraise. But not a sound will be made. We will read for two hours, during which we are permitted to stare out of the window or to observe other customers. At the end of it, you will stand up. You will pay for your drink and you will go. You will leave me to my thoughts.