The Misanthropic Autobiography of ....(Work in progress)

So I've been experimenting with first person writing because I feel it's my weakest point. So here's a first page exert from something else I've been writing.

Before that night my life was ordinary, nothing particularly amazing about it but nothing specifically bad either. I suppose it all began in November, I think it was the 14^th. I gasped as the headboard began to pound against the wall, a squeak in the frame with each movement. My eyes shut and I thought back to only a few moments before when the front door closed and drunken laughter echoed through the apartment. As the rhythmic bangs shook my wall I tilted my head back, parted my lips and yelled "Shut up!!" Bloody neighbours. It's no wonder they had to move from wherever they lived a week ago. Is it just me or does everyone think that society has to hit a certain age before they become aware of the existence and needs of other people. It isn't too much to ask to be able to sleep at 2am so you can be bright eyed and bushy tailed for a 6am start... is it? After three nights of having to listen to the rampant humping of the 19 year old rabbits I was now to call my neighbours, I'd decided that I had to get out. Don't get me wrong, I like a good ravaging just as much as the next 28 year old but… Actually, that’s not strictly true. You see, at this point in my life I was still a virgin. Now most of you who will read this will assume that it’s because I was fat or ugly. To be honest I was neither. I’m not stunningly beautiful either, but I still had a lot of offers. I just didn’t feel that I wanted to lose my virginity at a drunken party to some spotty guy who’d just as soon have sex with me as he would his own hand. Accompanied by the melody of moans in the background, I cast back the duvet and got to my feet. Trainers on with my phone and keys stuffed into my pj pocket, I grabbed my coat from the hook and left the noisy privacy of my apartment. I was never a fan of 'lazy couture' but at 2am I didn't fancy making an effort to look fashionable just for an escape.

There aren't really many places one could go at 2am in their jammies. Clubs won't let you in and if they would it probably isn't the kind of place any… modest…person would want to go. No, there was only one place for me. It was close by and would turn the least heads. My favourite little Costa in New Row. London is full of coffee shops but this was a quaint little place off of any main walk. It was no surprise that I was greeted with strange glances and uncomfortable stares when I entered. Most of the people who were up this late and drinking coffee were Business people. I drew in a breath, puffed out my chest and walked to one of the comfortable armchairs with purpose. This was where I first met Andrew years ago.

Andrew was an acquaintance of mine. One of those people you think of as a friend but know that calling them friend would feel socially awkward because you’ve never spent time together outside of a certain setting. He was a little peculiar but I think that’s why I was drawn to being his ‘friend’. He was overly flamboyant and had a striking resemblance to Elmo and always took an interest in the dealings of the business people who came to the coffee shop. Every time he saw a man and woman sitting together, both in suits, he’d come to me and say “I bet they’re having an affair. One of them has a wedding ring too. How awful” Then he’d strut back to the counter to get me my order. He was probably right. At least one third of them were likely to be having an affair, either with each other or with someone else. I'm sure there is some sort of statistic.
Today was no different. He came over and we had our typical exchange about the lack of tea. He’d always quip “It’s called Costa Coffee not Costa Hot Beverages.” And I’d grin and say “Then how come you make hot chocolate?” Once we’d settled that I’d have my usual of hot chocolate he hurried back to the counter. I made myself comfortable in the chair and he returned with my drink. He had a smile wider than the Cheshire Cat.

“Table 3’s been glancing at you ever since you came in.” He said in a low tone.

I looked up at him and then over to table 3. There was nothing really that remarkable about it; two men and a woman sitting and having coffee over presumably boring papers. One of them did keep looking at me though. He had sort of gentle features that didn’t seem to fit with the monkey suit at all and he knew it. I could tell, just by looking at him. He was probably the kind of person who would use that to his full advantage and get his way in life.

“I suppose a lot of the people here are looking at me.” I shrugged it off. There were probably five or six people gawking. After all, I had gone to a coffee shop ready for bed. Normally I wouldn't have taken any note of anything that happened that night. But what happened the next day at work made it stick in my mind. 

Author's Note

This is a work in progress and a first page exert so by no means is it the final piece. Any constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated.