I couldn't be bothered as usual with anyone. I go into public for the express purpose of getting away from people. That ain't a contradiction, not in this city. Standing alone on some street corner, in a peep show, just sitting around, a person gets to thinkin'--and that's the last thing I needed.

I fingered the fat fuck over for another double. Most expensive glass of water I've had in weeks. He's a sweet enough asshole, though, and the deluded decor ain't bad. It's all the twilight misery of Las Vegas and down-home drinkin' of the midwest; and somehow a tabasco shot of Los Angeles snuck in. Maybe Houston. But it's like nowhere else. It is nowhere.

Can't say as if I've been following my own rules lately. Getting to be I feel ground down even while the semester starts, like I'm being slopped into someone's mocha whip latte. A buzz I can be, but lately...eh. My blue plate special of misery nowadays has to be organizing monkey stuff. Pieces of old paper are the worst. Not to mention it was a record day of shit with a slight chance of thunder. Guess one out of two ain't bad. On the bright side, I got my teeth cleaned, I don't have a noticeable form of cancer, and monday's another holiday I conveniently forgot. 'Course that doesn't help the sudden workload I need to arbitrarily finish off for my 12 minute department lecture. I know Dr. C's alternative reason, that he wants me to get all my shit lined up in a row before fellowship apps start asking for alimony and liquor...but a month early, that's gonna sting. But hey, he ain't a prick, just looking out for my best interests. Hopefully that isn't going fuckball gonzo.

There's something at once hopeless and optimistic about all this. I figure it's like any memorable day: could go either way, but not down the middle.

Another glass of water gets me up into that warm thoughtful space, where every motherfucker is Socrates. I start fingering and get to thinking, 'bout how I ain't a young 20-something anymore, how eerily comfortable and increasingly nice hard angles seem to soft contours. I guess most gents don't mind flesh. I just know this one don't have the time--or the money.

And pretty soon, I murmur to myself, it'll all be the same old song and dance. Buttrock electric disco. That's the anthem of a school year. Probably Hell's waiting room.

I can't be fucked to even finish the thing in front of me. I just stare away at the cracked ceiling fans bobbing out of synch, hearing the same jokes over there as any day, and wondering how dust can look so goddamned beautiful from such an ugly pinprick in the sky.

This little light of mine, I'm gonna...just sit here awhile.

previous - next