Every month it is the same, they come and go and never stay.  The table is empty again, like it always is after they let their leases end.

I often wonder why they leave me.  The student from across the sea seemed content; an elderly woman and I had spoken for hours – or at least an hour – that one time.

It must be me, or maybe they find something around this table so unsatisfying.

I pick up the cleaning supplies, spray the bottle and follow with a rag. I straighten the chairs and look at the calendar.

Another first of the month is here, along with three empty rooms and waiting to fill them.

Written for Paint With Words via the Blog Propellant.