Someone ought to remind me not to do gin and tonic before P.M as it leads to peculiar incidents that become more than eccentric.

So i woke up late, just managed to pull a 'safe' outfit together and do surry hills cafe with anxiety at my fingertips and the need to make fluid movements from cigar-cut to lighting (i still can't get lighting the damn thing to a stylish posture). I tottled about the city buying a tin of maduros then down to surry hills...oh surry hills.. a meander amongst the pelaco shirts and gucci handbags and lots of ambient coloured wooden flooring.
I sat in my usual spot, on the outside of the cafe, the pretentious rim that is not entirely segregated, not at all emcompassing, that darkened edge of a nipple is where i sat. I laid out my eccoutriments, ordered some serious coffee and salmon salad "oh, i'm eating today" i announced.
So thus i was, splayed out like some panther on heat, no, more like a forgotten moth eaten coat but splayed never the less.
Away i blew, clouds of toxic plumes across down the hillside, across over the slipped edge, across back into my face .
I was taking command, exuding non challance, slow-batting eyelids at fashion faux-pas, stabbing at the smoked salmon with death between its gills.
One couple upped and left "i can't stand that smell" i rolled my eyes as they scampered out, yellow vinyl sandals are so unpleasant, it draws too much attention to fat ankles.
Time to message pete and share my moment.
So there i posed some more, arms close with right hand aloft, arms at ease on opened legs (masculine stance) and then this mornings sip and scull...scull..scull..scull!! hit me.
I got up to pay, to leave my indelible inking on this day so slung my mini-man bag across myself...with one exceptional movement i flung the strap over my head and right over me hitting the weight which held the massive floor to ceiling window up high.
Now, i'm not a physics teacher nor am i an engineer nor architech for what these three have anything to do with this entry i will never know however a section of the rather larger 2 meter wide window came hurtling down with guillotine speed and severed a glass containing 15 packets of sugar sticks.
Oh the commotion, the screams (mainly from me) and apologies and losing balance landing on the owner who rushed out to see if i was safe
"are u ok? argh!!"
"omg!! sorry are you ok" i say as i landed on him.
"yes are u ok?"
""yes omg, i'm not that heavy, really, are u ok?"
"omg, yes, i'm fine let me get up, oh my arm is stinging"

"ah, it's your cigar, it's on your arm"

I felt flustered to the point i wanted to pee but had to regain my composure let alone my self off the ashfelt.

Now i don't know about you but i know this, Gin and tonics are best left for P.M.