Blind Girls, Chess and Cancer

The blind girl plays chess. Her friends look on. She’s the most attractive in that box of six. College romances abound. The potential for a cat fight is ruined by the advent of more friends. The tension dissipates. The girl with the straight brown hair is the cause for the tension. IBM looks like he needs sleep. Tattoo girl’s boy friend walks like Salman Khan. A gentle courting is in place. First time for both. The pieces on the chess board lie scattered on the table. The blind girl re-arranges it. The blonde American sits with the blond Indian. A confusion of identity. Everybody’s smoking. Everybody’s smoking. A man sits and reads the news by himself. Another Tuesday morning. The girl with the light brown eyes is lighting match sticks. She’d rather be in class. The call centre boys are here at the end of their shift. They should be home sleeping. Things don’t always work like that. There’s a boy in a dirty brown shirt. Sitting by himself. Smoking a cigarette. Cancer will the downfall of my generation. The music is strangely inoffensive. A pleasant enough day so far. More white skin. Where did all these foreigners come from ? Why are they here ? I notice the blind girl’s opponents. How come every girl today has great hair ? Not complaining, but how come ? I light another cigarette. Cancer will be our downfall. The chain smoking generation. My head hurts. I haven’t felt like this in a while. A lack of sleep. There’s a mad rush for the loo. A waiting line. The call centre boy is monopolizing the loo. The yellow girl is beginning to look frantic. The blind girl is still playing chess.