... and the men at the coffee shop are just about too much to take. every day, they are there. doing nothing. talking about nothing. they stage whisper sexist jokes. a waitress walks by and they paw her with clunky banter. one has a camera, and this somehow makes him an alpha. he points this camera all over the shop, flash popping, shutter clicking. it's bristling and so much i would like to man handle that camera and that man, like a pissed off sean penn kicking some paparazzo ass.
and rain fell a few nights ago, coating the streets in a slick layer of thin ice. and i felt like a kid again, gaining speed, throwing up both hands for balance, and gauging how long i can slip and slide my way home. the sun and easy temps today took care of most of the ice, except for a few patches on shaded sidewalk.
and i get distracted easily, ducking into shops all along main street, looking for ways to warm up and blow a few bucks at the same time. rented a few movies. down on one knee in the used book exchange, nose pressed close to the must of old books, debating whether or not i can spend 7 dollars on a million little pieces. even though i know it's fraud, i want to read it so badly, but i feel as though i would have to stop people on the street and say, yes, i know he made this up, but i just couldn't help myself. then ee cummings' 95 poems fell against my palm and i want, like his poem, i want to carry his words with me, i carry them in my words, the same way he carries your heart (he carries it in his heart).
and walking home, two pretty women i know waved at me. i smiled big and waved back. things like that make this town home. i wanted to chase after those women, ask them where they are going and what were they doing and can we all do it together?
and dinner tonight was chicken and pasta, bubbled in a garlicky sauce and sprinkled with green-can parmesan cheese. and it was delicious and will help the girl rock her insect biology final. the kitchen is clean and soapy, and the painted walls look like a northern sunrise, streaky gold and warm to the touch.
and tomorrow morning we get to sleep in ...
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3 comments:
The camera dude's name is Michael, I guess, and he's always harassing girls to 'model' for him. He even has a hand-scrawled flyer under the counter.
I hope those guys buy a lot of coffee and make Shelly a crap load of money so there's some good reason for them to be ruining everyone else's Coffee Shop time.
yeah, i know who he is. i'v heard nothing but creepy things about him. have you noticed his sign now reads "nude" female model?
i, too, hope shelly makes some money off of them, though I usually see them nursing a mug of coffee for hours.
how was your wednesday final?
Wow. Gross. Nobody likes him; everytime he comes in, Stash loudly says something like, "Christ! It's him!" and there's a general groaning around the room.
The final was okay although my hand was pretty brutalized by the time it was all over. I think my pen writing days have passed me.
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