Scraps.

A young man sat alone in a crowded café. His companion, a mousey blonde in her early twenties was talking to him and he wasn't paying the slightest bit of notice to what she was saying. He nodded politely every couple of minutes or so while periodically sipping the rapidly cooling tasteless cappuccino he'd ordered when he arrived half an hour before. Staring out of the window, the passing shoppers and traffic fused into a stream of orange flecked grey, carrying away on its back the words of the girl, into one stream of ambient noise.

He suddenly yawned, the expression of his exhaustion forcing him back into polite conversation and the world around him regained its individuality. She had a name again, the people and the cars were no longer heading to the same goal and the raindrops raced each other down the window.