"There are two kinds of things in life,
Those I hate
And those I don't care about."

She chewed the lid of her coffee cup.
Wrapped her fingers up in her sleeves.
Nervously.
Talking too fast,
As if afraid if she thought about what she said,
She would no longer to say it.

She talked about Africa.
It was one of the things she cared about
/hated.
"I don't understand how they live in such poverty, and we can just sit here drinking coffee."

Her companion asked her what she would do, if she was in their situation.

"**** myself."

She said softly.
Unaware she was whispering.

"Not that I want to **** myself now, I mean I don't care enough to do that. Besides I think I would be too afraid."

She replied, even though only silence had followed her first answer.
She turned her attention to the now tattered sleeve,
Of the cold coffee.
Looking at it as if it had all the answers in the world
Tucked between its cardboard grooves.

"I think I think too much, about not thinking"

Silence

"I mean, the more I think, the more depressed I become. But if I try to stop thinking, I become depressed that not thinking is the only way to happiness and..."

She stopped talking.
Aware that some things are better off in your head.
Probably afraid that her listener would disagree and force her to elaborate.
Afraid of what she would say.

The rest of the car ride was silent.
Full of casual small talk regarding the clouds, and how sales are always better after holidays.

She fidgeted with her sunglasses, the coffee cup still on her lap.
Her mouth remained partially open,
As if she was about to say something,
But couldn't bring herself to making any sound.

The car pulled to a stop at the mall.
She got out, hesitating for a moment,
As if to pull herself together.
She took a deep breath.
Unconscious of what she was doing.
Tossed the coffee cup to the ground.
Then walked off to join her friend.
Pretending to care.