Why is everything I write lately just the beginning to something?

Untitled (for now)

=====Anthony walked into the first café he saw. It looked liked any other, nothing about it was remarkable in any way. He ordered a coffee and sat down at a table by the window, taking small sips as he watched the raindrops thread their way down the glass. His eyes remained fixated on them, following one, then another, as they all slowly wound down and left his field of vision. He watched as they acted out the trajectory of his life over the past twenty-four hours, all of the pieces diverging, splitting apart and trickling away into nothingness.
=====It had started the night before. Him and his girlfriend got in a fight, and not just one of the biweekly small spats they always seemed to have; a real one this time. She accused him of having cheated on her—which of course was the truth, he’d been nervously waiting for months for her to confront him about it. Not that she’d caught him or that he’d left any overt signs of it, but she knew him, and she was no idiot. He was almost relieved when she finally asked him straight-out, at least he didn’t have to wait anxiously for it to come anymore. There was more to the fight too though. He’d been working late a lot lately (both “working late” and actually working late), and in general was getting so caught up in work that he hadn’t been paying her much attention. Basically the fight was about the fact that he was an all-around-lousy boyfriend. Honestly, he was only surprised it hadn’t happened sooner.
=====Then the next day (right before he went to the café), at the end of work, his boss told him he was fired. Anthony’s first reaction was a desire to applaud the sheer irony of it all: his girlfriend broke up with him because he was too concerned about work, and then he gets fired. Of course, even he knew that wasn’t all the fight was about, but it struck him as a bit amusing nonetheless. Once he got over the objective comedic value of the situation though, the reality of it hit him. As much as it was a pain in his ass a lot of the time, he really did like his job; and the pay wasn’t too shabby either. He’d been working there for years, and had no idea what he wanted to do—find another job like it (where there even any others?), or find something else (not that he had any idea of what that something else would even be)?
=====After that, Anthony needed to go somewhere and sort out everything that was rushing through his head. Hence, the café. He took another sip of his coffee, becoming slightly irritated that it didn’t taste better. He even considered throwing it out and leaving, but then reconsidered—he’d paid for it already, he might as well try to enjoy it. He continued to watch the raindrops, his eyes now slightly narrowed, watching them mock him by mimicking his life in their downward spiral. He almost wanted to break the glass just to spite them, but he wasn’t in a bad enough mood to actually do something like that. Not yet at least.
=====And that’s when he met Jack.
=====“Mind if I sit here?”
=====Anthony looked away from the window and to the person who had spoken to him. He was tall and gaunt, with a head of curly dark brown hair, somehow completely dry despite the torrential downpour outside, and he was wearing a long dark-gray overcoat. But what struck Anthony most was his eyes: they were a dazzlingly light sky-blue, and there was something about them that simultaneously made Anthony want to immediately avert his eyes and rendered him completely unable to do so.
=====“Go right ahead,” Anthony replied coolly.
=====“Sure I’m not intruding?” The man asked.
=====“It’s no problem. To tell you the truth I could use some distraction right now.”
=====The man sat down across the table from Anthony, and took a cigarette out of a carton of Newports from a pocket of his coat.
=====“You don’t mind, do you?” He asked, his piercing eyes locking onto Anthony’s. Anthony felt vaguely violated by the look somehow, as if the man was looking into him; his look penetrating through his skin and delving into his insides, inspecting his stomach contents and the state of his digestive tract.
=====“Fine by me,” he replied, and much to his relief, the man averted his gaze.
=====The man struck a match—a match Anthony swore he never saw him retrieve it from his coat or anywhere else—and lit his cigarette. He inhaled deeply, and then blew out a perfect smoke ring—it hovered out, then suddenly stopped, and hung suspended in midair completely still a foot or so away from the man’s mouth. It remained there, unwavering, until the man exhaled the rest of the smoke in his lungs, causing it to disintegrate and merge with the rest of the smoke, vanishing as it all dispersed through the surrounding air.
=====“The name’s Jack by the way,” The man said, holding out his hand.
=====“Anthony,” Anthony replied, shaking the man’s hand. He had a surprisingly firm grip for his lanky build.
=====“Pleasure to meet you Anthony,” Jack replied, his lips showing a faint smile before he took another drag on his cigarette.
=====And that’s how he met Jack; that’s when it all started.