Not getting used to it

He is smoking a cigarette outside on a bench. I’m setting up the tables. He’s staring out to the tennis court, I think. He takes a couple of puffs and comes back in. The doors open at 5 and dinner starts then.
We need breaks. Even at work we need a little quite time, a small break, some “me” time. A break could be a cigarette, a beer, or just a quite place to sit and think. Maybe not even think, just day-dream.
I hum to myself at times when I don’t have access to my iPod. It gives me a sense of normality and makes me feel at home. When I’m there, in the senior home, I get depressed. I see their faces and I think they deserve better. They deserve to be on vacation with their families. They don’t deserve to be alone. Nobody deserves to be alone.
I’ll be leaving in a week or so. I found another job. I didn’t want to leave them this fast, but I couldn’t stand it any longer. Maybe if I had found a good way to get used to the atmosphere or a better break-time, I would have stayed.

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