Little drummer boy

Little drummer boy waits at the corner with his little drink, slipping away, observing.

He looks at the people around him.

Some of them are eating.

Some of them are talking.

Some of them are laughing.

Some of them are mingling.

Most of them are acting.

But little drummer boy just sits at that corner that is his, doing what he always do, thinking.

Little drummer boy knows these people, but yet he does not know them.

He does not know what to say to them.

He does not know what they are saying to him.

He does not know the point of this charade, extensively and tad too deliberately done.

But he knows he must smile.

Little drummer boy feels like an idiot, smiling there at his corner, hoping no one notices his disinterest.

Not that anyone cares.

They are all too engaged.

Engaged but, just like little drummer boy, disinterested.

It’s obvious to little drummer boy that some of their eyes speak of dissent, but yet the faces portray otherwise.

Little drummer boy wonders if they enjoy what they do, although he suspects not.

Little drummer boy pitied them, but he knows they are respect worthy.

Little drummer boy does not like what he sees.

Little drummer boy makes a mental note not to be what he sees.

Little drummer boy can only hope.