Lunch Date and Mocha

I have never been on a lunch date before coming here. 

What the fuck for?

To talk about what we could talk about over the phone? 

No.

There was no one who I felt was deserving of the effort to dress- smartly, commute to a restaurant and commune over a plate of food. 

I know I sound so damn ungrateful and besides myself, but that is the truth. 

Conversations back home were limited to gossip and idle hyperbole of bullshit. 

Always left chomping at the bit for some kind of substance, I had to suffer the realisation that provocative conversation that led to mutual insights between myself and my fellow provocateur were never going to be had. 

Presentation is everything in the Middle East

We met ten minutes after our agreed upon meet up time. 

I always conscious of my lateness to our lunch dates, despite my gross detest of this particular sign of disrespect, hurried out of my apartment praying that my ten minute walk to the restaurant would be unimpeded. 

After the usual pleasantries were extended, void of any cold, disingenuous energy, our lunch date began. And with that the kind of conversation that teaches you more about yourself as you reveal. 

I am grateful.