A pacific blue lampshade stands stout,
shedding regular-colored light
on a table that might be found
in any coffee shop in any state,
Specifically, it's lying about
the Starbucks just beyond the light
at Alafaya, eastern-bound,
and Gemini; university's gate,
Bait just like catnip, to this writer's soul,
drowned in caffeine, too many cups sold,
lightly-headed and bound for gold,
all doubts have been prolifically shoaled,
Clouts of soporific nostalgia
delight me past Arcadia,
wind up in Naples, Florida;
four hours of driving like a monster;
A prolific author returns home,
what was home, resembles a light
atop the trees, each one tall and stout,
from a distance, much shorter from up close
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Liberation: Chapter 1
August 29, 2011 began not unlike any other before it, but within minutes of merging on to I-75, the day skipped down a path of steepening instability.
Left turn signal, check.
Cut around slower vehicles prior to the end of the merge lane, check.
Enter the leftmost lane and drive 15 MPH over the speed limit, check check.
Daniel sat in a relaxed position in the drivers seat of his 2001 Chevy Malibu rental car, left arm on the window well, elbow against the glass, hand on back of head. Stretching his back from the early, static hours of the morning, Daniel took in a deep, slow breath, holding it for a few seconds, and then releasing it; an indication that the morning had truly begun. He reached for his orange juice, a replacement to his regular coffee, and before his lips could reach the straw, his body heaved forward with a sudden jolt, his grip tightened around the steering wheel. "...the fuck!?" Daniel gazed into the rear-view mirror to spot an empty lane of traffic, and as if on cue, a red-and-black Firebird sped around to his right, and he floored his accelerator.
Center lane, left lane, center lane, left lane again... The Firebird jumped between cars like a flea, leaving Daniel with only a couple of feet worth of room to navigate the same route as his assailant. Center lane, right lane, center lane, left lane... The Malibu and the Firebird reached the front of traffic, lingering for mere moments before the Firebird's custom exhaust system roared with the fire of ogre bellies and began widening the distance between the two vehicles. Trying to keep up, Daniel's Malibu whined and squealed; it's rebuilt engine taking the stress of high-speed driving with stride. Coming upon the next block of traffic and closing the distance on the Firebird, the pair entered the cluster from the center lane, immediately cutting to the right in front of an aqua Honda Accord, back to the center lane around a black and grey Chevy Blazer, and into the left lane around a Publix semi-truck and trailer. By the time Daniel's Malibu caught up to the left lane, the Firebird in front of him was pulling in front of the truck and took chase to it, but on impulse he tapped his brakes halfway up the side of the truck and pulled around behind it to find that the same Firebird he had been chasing was hovering around the back corner of the truck in a vain attempt to outsmart him. Daniel pulled up behind them and flashed his high beams at them; this amusing game of cat-and-mouse was in check. The Firebird once again accelerated to escape, but as soon as they had started, the Publix truck swerved right and cut them off. The vehicles collided, and the Firebird hovered into the emergency lane for a few, brief seconds before succumbing to drop of the slope, mere feet to the right. The Firebird's driver slammed the brakes as soon as he was on level ground, and the car squealed and smoked before spinning out on the dewy grass and, at last, coming to a halt. Daniel flipped on his emergency lights and pulled off the side of the interstate, threw his car in reverse, and slowly approached the Firebird, his dented bumper leading the excursion.
Since the moment he got rear-ended, Daniel had his first, rational thought. "Who would run from something small like that, considering I could have reported his license plate later." The thought that the Firebird he had been so desperately chasing could have been stolen, and the driver was some hardened criminal who was breaking his parole. "Ah, Christ. What have I gotten myself into?" By the time Daniel has his epiphany, he had already backed up to the car with the smoking tire wells, and the doors had already begun to open. "Fuck, why did I have to stop for this asshole? He's probably got a handgun and an ounce of cocaine in his glove box. Maybe I can throw my car in reverse and... no, that's never gonna work, he's probably The freakin' Flash on that crack. Shit! Fuck! I could always just drive off..." Daniel threw his car into D and was about to slam the accelerator, when he had an epiphany. His foot hit the brake and the car shook and his transmission grinded as he threw it into P from an idle speed. "Fuck it, I'm no pussy. I'm not gonna run from this shit, I've got too much pride for this." Daniel opened his door with haste to meet the driver of the Firebird face-to-face. His face tightened, a confident scowl formed from his lips, his eyes squinted, and he marched stiffly from his car to his partner in chase. Daniel walked around the open driver-seat door and was greeted to a twenty-something blonde girl with her nose pointed downwards at a small puddle of vomit; his guard was dropped immediately.
Daniel bent over, wrists to knees, "Ma'am? Are you alright." She shook her head up and down as well as she could and he looked side-to-side and noticed there wasn't a steering wheel on the car. Puzzled, he looked through to the assumed passenger side of the vehicle and found a forty-something man with receding whitish-brown hair attempting to call someone on his cell phone, his forearms resting on a steering wheel. Snapping back into defensive mode, Daniel power-walked around the front of the car and the right-side driver's door, putting his hand on top of it. "You," he said in a powerful voice. The man shook as his neck snapped over to look at the man he had been running from. The man replied with a heavy Brazilian accent "I am so, so sorry Mr. American Man. My girlfriend and I were driving when I drove into you car... and..." the man was cut short. Daniel smelled marijuana. "Let me get this straight. You were stoned and driving on the highway when you ran into my car and tried to run away." The man nodded once, "Yes, that's it. I'm so sorry, if we were caught I would have been deported. I'm here on a student visa, I'm learning about physics. I'm just here for the weekend, I go to University of Florida. Do you want to see my student ID?" The man was panicking. Daniel just stood leaning inward in the doorway, one bent arm on the door, the other on the roof, looking around for any other details that might be useful to know, when the sound of a car tire driving through gravel sounded to his right. The progenitor of the disturbance? A Florida Highway Patrol car driving off the side of the interstate and into the grassy area occupied by the two cars. Daniel turned to look at the third car, suppressed a spiteful quip to the Brazilian man, and tapped his middle and index fingers on the roof of the car in anticipation.
The officer stepped out of the car calmly and approached Daniel and the Brazilian man, glancing to his left on the sound of the young girl vomiting. The officer looked slightly taken aback. "We received six reports of two cars racing on the interstate, and five reporting a car driving off the road. Would any of you like to explain to me what happened?" Daniel glanced at the Brazilian man before starting. "I would, I was on my way to work when I was rear-ended by him," Daniel pointed to the Brazilian man with his thumb, "and he tried fleeing the scene, so I chased him down and he was run off the road by a Publix truck," Daniel concluded by stepping out of the officer's path to the Brazilian man. The officer looked at the Brazilian man and spoke, "Sir, is this what really happened?" The Brazilian man was unable to keep eye contact, "Yes, officer, it is." The officer quietly inhaled a deep breath, paused for a second and walked over to the other side of the car. "Ma'am, are you okay to stand up?" She nodded her head as she had for Daniel, only quicker, took a deep breath, and stood up with the help of the officer. He led her towards his car and said to her, "Ma'am, I'm going to have to place you and the driver of the vehicle under arrest for the possession and use of a controlled substance. Will you please step into the back of my patrol car?" Looking at the ground with her arms crossed, she nodded again and sat in the back seat as he held the door open for her. She sat there with the door opened, arms crossed and staring at the headrest of the passenger seat, her lips pouting. The officer walked back to the Firebird, past Daniel to the Brazilian man, who had stood up on his own. The officer locked eyes with him for a moment before walking back to his patrol car, seating him next to the blonde girl and shutting the door. The officer walked back to Daniel with shifty eyes.
"Sir?" The officer spoke to Daniel, "Yes officer?" A sinking formed in Daniel's gut, "You are being placed under arrest for illegal racing and reckless driving. Please follow me to my patrol car and I will escort you to the Florida Highway Patrol holding facility." Daniel's reaction was that of someone struck in the solar plexus. "I'm sorry, officer?" The officer continued to look Daniel in the eyes. "I do not intend to repeat myself, please follow me to the patrol car," the officer said as he turned around and began walking. "Fuck my life," Daniel hesitantly followed the officer, who held the door open for him. Daniel took his seat next to the blonde girl, who was hunched over, forearms to thighs, looking roughed up from sweating too much, and the Brazilian man gave Daniel a quick glance before huffing and putting on his seat belt. The officer entered the driver's seat, started the engine, and drove back on to the interstate and sped up to 80. The blonde girl began leaning to Daniel's side and turned her head to say something, but her speech was interrupted as a mass of vomit left her lips instead of words and coated Daniel's shirt and tie; the excess pooling in his lap.
Monday, August 20, 2012
Orange County
Waiting with a scrapped tire by my Hyundai Elantra, sipping McDonald's coffee while my friend negotiates the replacement. I compose a poem on my phone as the garage workers change a tire and flow with the lyrics to Insane in the Membrane. Regrettably, we can't find the correct 15-inch tire and the search continues.
Two used tire shops and half an hour later, Wal-Mart's Tire and Lube Express employees facilitate our return into our daily routines at a cost.
That cost was an hour of talking about high school affairs, pining over sixty dollar gaming controllers, a trip across the street to the tobacco shop and back, a walk to the water fountain, and seventy six bucks from the pawn shop.
We gathered our wits and water bottles and begun our strides towards downtown, stopping only to put $10 in my tank and to take a leak. We spoke of our relationships, our friends, and, of course, how the rest of the afternoon would be spent.
When we made it to the slighted Oldsmobile Silhouette, still parked across the street from the IHOP, the day's treacherous wrath faded with every complete rotation of the tire iron. Slowly but surely the sun emerged from behind the clouds and the new tire held the old van upright.
Our conversation thereafter was short-lived as we went our separate ways for the time being; he drove west to drop off a band saw, while I drove east for a well-deserved reprieve amongst my felinish traveling companions, where the memory of today's trials would soon vanish into the murky depths of my subconscious, slumbering until they are needed again. The day, the 20th of August, 2012, one week short of the month I have been in this city, will remain as a constant reminder of the life and place I chose to better myself. This place, Orlando, where wings are allowed to reach their full span, the place I now call home.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Liberation: Chapter 6
It had happened the same way as the twenty-two cases before it; twenty two victims, twenty two home computers accessed, fifty-one bank accounts cleaned out with an overdrawn amount of measly five dollars and seventy-one cents. 'How could it have happened to me?' all of the victims must have thought at one point or another, nonetheless, as the red text continued reading -$5.71 every time he refreshed the page, Bradley Tzernich shocked himself when he slammed his fist onto the surface of his desk so hard that his rage was temporarily redirected at himself.
"Son of a bitch!" Brad screamed at the ceiling as he fell to the floor from his knees. He held his hand to his chest, squeezing it tightly, seeking comfort in the new-found silence around him. His face, red as the twilit sky, sank into a beach-like shade of tan as he slowed his breathing with each breath, and finally opened his eyes to look at what he'd done to himself.
He extended his right hand and rotated it to either side, feeling a stiff pain when it turned to the right. He bent his elbow and held his palm inches from his face. Brad clenched and unclenched his fist, squeezing tightly the third time through; he felt nothing. Still skeptical, he pressed on the bones in his hand, but still to no result. He had started believing his pain was only a temporary affair, but when he tried moving his two leftmost fingers independently, palm still facing him, the stabbing pain that shot down his arm, starting from the wrist and ending before it reached the elbow, the hope that the pain was only temporary had been derailed. Before he had time to fully take in the realization, however, Brad had found the way back onto his feet and was headed back to his desk, where he reached for the cell phone lying just to the right of his computer monitor.
"Nine-one-one... Nine-one-one..." Brad murmured to himself as he held the phone between the thumb and his two good fingers and dialed with his left hand. After pressing Send, he took the phone with his left hand and held it to his ear, letting his right palm rest on the desk as he slid into his expensive reclining computer chair, rocking back and forth. The phone clicked and a pleasant-sounding voice spoke broke through, "Nine-one-one, how may I..."
"I need the police."
"What's your situation sir?"
"My bank account... it's been emptied... I think it's the..."
"Hold on, let me transfer you."
'Click...'
...
...
'Clic-Kaylant P.D. Cyber Crimes Division, this is officer Anthony Hengrin, may I have your name and location?"
"My name is Bradley Tzernich and my address is 12874 Jilpardon Circle, Growli, FL 37548."
... ... ...
"Okay, Mr. Tzernich," Hengrin spoke in a calm tone, "you told the operator your bank account had been accessed and your funds have been removed, is this correct?"
"Yes it is, officer. The account balance was negative five..."
"Negative five dollars and seventy-one cents?"
"Yes officer..."
"You're the twenty-third to call in about this same problem. You will be happy to know we have enlisted the aid of the best internet-security professionals in the state to get to the bottom of this. All I can advise you to do now is change your online passwords and leave your debit card at home in a secure location." Brad's fist tightened again, reigniting the fire in his wrist, "I apologize for the inconvenience caused to you on the perpetrator's behalf, and I wish there was something else I could do for you, but all I can give you right now is my confidence in the team we enlisted."
"Thank you officer," Brad said calmly, despite his inclining frustration, "in case you can't reach me on this number, call my wife on her phone, her number is three-five-two, eight-eight-four, five-two-seven-six."
"Thank you Mr. Tzernich, we will contact you as progress is made in this case."
'Berrrrrrn!' Brad pressed the red, digital End button on his phone and set it face down on his desk and let his head fall back into the curve at the top of his chair's back. He looked at an angle at the intersection of the wall and ceiling above the double doors leading into the garden he and his wife built together out of an unattractive plot of sandy soil and grass. 'Honey...'
Brad pictured his wife and daughter in the garden. His wife's long-red hair swinging back and forth as she picked their daughter up out of the dirt. A small tear welled up in the corner of his eye as he was brought back into reality. His mind raced, wary of the heavy burden looming above, but pressing on nonetheless; he was determined, desperate to figure something out... then he stopped. Brad's torso shot forward from it's leaning position and he began bawling into his hands.
---
She watched the clock as the small hand crawled over from 2 to 3, and no matter how she attempted to get her mind off of it, reality refused to bend. For what seemed to be the fifth time in the last half an hour, some lazy customers left not only their cups on a table she had just cleaned, but dirty straws, wet napkins, lids wearing a fine coat of cappuccino, and melting ice cubes. Taking nearly immediate notice to the mess, she searched near the sink for a clean-looking rag. Identifying her quarry, she tightened up her apron and turned on the sink, allowing warm water to wash through the white square of fabric. She wrung out the rag, twisting it on both ends, and paced towards the table, lifting up the opening in the counter top to allow her passage.
"Can you clean that up Melissa?" Called her coworker, who wiped a bead of sweat from underneath her faded-tangerine bangs. "I've got it already," Melissa called back in an irate tone of voice. She thought of how her coworker should have been the one cleaning, but since she'd been hogging the register since about a quarter after one, this would prove nearly impossible to accomplish.
Melissa let her mind focus on how much she couldn't stand people like her coworker Jeanine at times, as well as customers like the ones who left her table a mess. She kept telling herself that she shouldn't feel that way towards others, but she was already at the point where she was beyond sympathizing with anyone who only cared for themselves. Despicable, basic creatures, hardly worthy of being called human, especially since that's how she referred to herself. The thought angered her as she threw the empty plastic cups into the trash and placed a ceramic cappuccino mug on the seat while she wiped the table down. A bead of sweat formed under her left eyebrow, such an uncomfortable feeling, she thought as she wiped it away, the smell of stale soap, water, and blended coffee filled up her nasal cavities, triggering the olfactories.
She couldn't help but think of another cigarette at this point, the series of inconsiderate customers coupled with her unwilling coworker made the prospect of stepping outside for 5 minutes of respite seem a gift. She stood up fully, looking around to find not a single customer standing in line. Walking up to Jeanine, who was in the middle of flipping through a newspaper, Melissa dropped the rag on the other side of the counter and informed her coworker that she was going outside for a cigarette, who simply responded with an indifferent "Meh." Melissa decided she was taking that as a sign of approval and turned and walked to the door.
Pushing the door open from it's frame instead of the handle, Melissa walked to the left and past the large window in the store front. Fiddling around in her pocket, she produced a single, 100mm cigarettte and a transparent purple lighter. She put the filter of the cigarette in her mouth and lit the open end, her eyes firing upwards towards the grey sky.
A sign, she thought as she took a drag off of her smoke. Her day was nearly over, it was only another twenty-two minutes until her shift ended, but the thought of seeing her stepmother for the first time in seven months was almost enough to make her want to stay until closing time. That option wasn't feasible, much to her dismay, as she was broke for another week and her tips weren't exactly paying her part of the rent.
Her thoughts became long as she lingered by the window, length of tobacco growing short. Her thoughts began to focus on the men and women coming from every direction. Who they are and what sort of lives they led intrigued Melissa, surely their lives were more interesting than hers; sharing a cramped apartment with Jeanine and her obnoxious friends didn't exactly fit into her image of ideal city life. It could be worse, she thought, tossing her cigarette butt into the gutter below her feet. 'I have a job and a place to live,' she told herself often, but it wasn't enough. She never asked for much, never too much anyways, and things always seemed to work out just fine, but it wasn't enough. She envied the people on the street that she knew nothing about, and that worried her.
She took a few short but deep breaths to calm herself down and she turned to walk back inside, but she was caught off-guard by an ambulance rushing by, forcing her to jump back a couple steps. Her heart beat for a few moments, leading her into deep breaths to calm herself down once more, this time leading her into a series of painful coughs that lasted a good fifteen seconds before she started breathing normally again, "I need to quit smoking."
"Son of a bitch!" Brad screamed at the ceiling as he fell to the floor from his knees. He held his hand to his chest, squeezing it tightly, seeking comfort in the new-found silence around him. His face, red as the twilit sky, sank into a beach-like shade of tan as he slowed his breathing with each breath, and finally opened his eyes to look at what he'd done to himself.
He extended his right hand and rotated it to either side, feeling a stiff pain when it turned to the right. He bent his elbow and held his palm inches from his face. Brad clenched and unclenched his fist, squeezing tightly the third time through; he felt nothing. Still skeptical, he pressed on the bones in his hand, but still to no result. He had started believing his pain was only a temporary affair, but when he tried moving his two leftmost fingers independently, palm still facing him, the stabbing pain that shot down his arm, starting from the wrist and ending before it reached the elbow, the hope that the pain was only temporary had been derailed. Before he had time to fully take in the realization, however, Brad had found the way back onto his feet and was headed back to his desk, where he reached for the cell phone lying just to the right of his computer monitor.
"Nine-one-one... Nine-one-one..." Brad murmured to himself as he held the phone between the thumb and his two good fingers and dialed with his left hand. After pressing Send, he took the phone with his left hand and held it to his ear, letting his right palm rest on the desk as he slid into his expensive reclining computer chair, rocking back and forth. The phone clicked and a pleasant-sounding voice spoke broke through, "Nine-one-one, how may I..."
"I need the police."
"What's your situation sir?"
"My bank account... it's been emptied... I think it's the..."
"Hold on, let me transfer you."
'Click...'
...
...
'Clic-Kaylant P.D. Cyber Crimes Division, this is officer Anthony Hengrin, may I have your name and location?"
"My name is Bradley Tzernich and my address is 12874 Jilpardon Circle, Growli, FL 37548."
... ... ...
"Okay, Mr. Tzernich," Hengrin spoke in a calm tone, "you told the operator your bank account had been accessed and your funds have been removed, is this correct?"
"Yes it is, officer. The account balance was negative five..."
"Negative five dollars and seventy-one cents?"
"Yes officer..."
"You're the twenty-third to call in about this same problem. You will be happy to know we have enlisted the aid of the best internet-security professionals in the state to get to the bottom of this. All I can advise you to do now is change your online passwords and leave your debit card at home in a secure location." Brad's fist tightened again, reigniting the fire in his wrist, "I apologize for the inconvenience caused to you on the perpetrator's behalf, and I wish there was something else I could do for you, but all I can give you right now is my confidence in the team we enlisted."
"Thank you officer," Brad said calmly, despite his inclining frustration, "in case you can't reach me on this number, call my wife on her phone, her number is three-five-two, eight-eight-four, five-two-seven-six."
"Thank you Mr. Tzernich, we will contact you as progress is made in this case."
'Berrrrrrn!' Brad pressed the red, digital End button on his phone and set it face down on his desk and let his head fall back into the curve at the top of his chair's back. He looked at an angle at the intersection of the wall and ceiling above the double doors leading into the garden he and his wife built together out of an unattractive plot of sandy soil and grass. 'Honey...'
Brad pictured his wife and daughter in the garden. His wife's long-red hair swinging back and forth as she picked their daughter up out of the dirt. A small tear welled up in the corner of his eye as he was brought back into reality. His mind raced, wary of the heavy burden looming above, but pressing on nonetheless; he was determined, desperate to figure something out... then he stopped. Brad's torso shot forward from it's leaning position and he began bawling into his hands.
---
She watched the clock as the small hand crawled over from 2 to 3, and no matter how she attempted to get her mind off of it, reality refused to bend. For what seemed to be the fifth time in the last half an hour, some lazy customers left not only their cups on a table she had just cleaned, but dirty straws, wet napkins, lids wearing a fine coat of cappuccino, and melting ice cubes. Taking nearly immediate notice to the mess, she searched near the sink for a clean-looking rag. Identifying her quarry, she tightened up her apron and turned on the sink, allowing warm water to wash through the white square of fabric. She wrung out the rag, twisting it on both ends, and paced towards the table, lifting up the opening in the counter top to allow her passage.
"Can you clean that up Melissa?" Called her coworker, who wiped a bead of sweat from underneath her faded-tangerine bangs. "I've got it already," Melissa called back in an irate tone of voice. She thought of how her coworker should have been the one cleaning, but since she'd been hogging the register since about a quarter after one, this would prove nearly impossible to accomplish.
Melissa let her mind focus on how much she couldn't stand people like her coworker Jeanine at times, as well as customers like the ones who left her table a mess. She kept telling herself that she shouldn't feel that way towards others, but she was already at the point where she was beyond sympathizing with anyone who only cared for themselves. Despicable, basic creatures, hardly worthy of being called human, especially since that's how she referred to herself. The thought angered her as she threw the empty plastic cups into the trash and placed a ceramic cappuccino mug on the seat while she wiped the table down. A bead of sweat formed under her left eyebrow, such an uncomfortable feeling, she thought as she wiped it away, the smell of stale soap, water, and blended coffee filled up her nasal cavities, triggering the olfactories.
She couldn't help but think of another cigarette at this point, the series of inconsiderate customers coupled with her unwilling coworker made the prospect of stepping outside for 5 minutes of respite seem a gift. She stood up fully, looking around to find not a single customer standing in line. Walking up to Jeanine, who was in the middle of flipping through a newspaper, Melissa dropped the rag on the other side of the counter and informed her coworker that she was going outside for a cigarette, who simply responded with an indifferent "Meh." Melissa decided she was taking that as a sign of approval and turned and walked to the door.
Pushing the door open from it's frame instead of the handle, Melissa walked to the left and past the large window in the store front. Fiddling around in her pocket, she produced a single, 100mm cigarettte and a transparent purple lighter. She put the filter of the cigarette in her mouth and lit the open end, her eyes firing upwards towards the grey sky.
A sign, she thought as she took a drag off of her smoke. Her day was nearly over, it was only another twenty-two minutes until her shift ended, but the thought of seeing her stepmother for the first time in seven months was almost enough to make her want to stay until closing time. That option wasn't feasible, much to her dismay, as she was broke for another week and her tips weren't exactly paying her part of the rent.
Her thoughts became long as she lingered by the window, length of tobacco growing short. Her thoughts began to focus on the men and women coming from every direction. Who they are and what sort of lives they led intrigued Melissa, surely their lives were more interesting than hers; sharing a cramped apartment with Jeanine and her obnoxious friends didn't exactly fit into her image of ideal city life. It could be worse, she thought, tossing her cigarette butt into the gutter below her feet. 'I have a job and a place to live,' she told herself often, but it wasn't enough. She never asked for much, never too much anyways, and things always seemed to work out just fine, but it wasn't enough. She envied the people on the street that she knew nothing about, and that worried her.
She took a few short but deep breaths to calm herself down and she turned to walk back inside, but she was caught off-guard by an ambulance rushing by, forcing her to jump back a couple steps. Her heart beat for a few moments, leading her into deep breaths to calm herself down once more, this time leading her into a series of painful coughs that lasted a good fifteen seconds before she started breathing normally again, "I need to quit smoking."
Saturday, August 4, 2012
At the Mating
Sitting
at the table
of a foreign
and familiar city,
this place,
my home,
this foreign
and familiar house
where I live
but every night
The place
where I make
Honduran coffee
and practice
the esoteric
with nothing
more
than a pen
from my old home,
this notebook
I made a promise on,
and the promise
to a distant friend;
promised
to myself
I become
at the mating,
myself,
a person,
no longer,
an idea,
or a misconception,
a false imagining
born of a dream,
a desire,
a bottled existence,
this way of thinking,
deemed invalid,
by the din,
kindred,
myself,
I become
at the inception,
myself,
a person,
who I am
at the table
of a foreign
and familiar city,
this place,
my home,
this foreign
and familiar house
where I live
but every night
The place
where I make
Honduran coffee
and practice
the esoteric
with nothing
more
than a pen
from my old home,
this notebook
I made a promise on,
and the promise
to a distant friend;
promised
to myself
I become
at the mating,
myself,
a person,
no longer,
an idea,
or a misconception,
a false imagining
born of a dream,
a desire,
a bottled existence,
this way of thinking,
deemed invalid,
by the din,
kindred,
myself,
I become
at the inception,
myself,
a person,
who I am
Monday, July 9, 2012
What Libertarians Talk About on Their Birthdays
Risen like a ghost
from a life already past
the night played host
to a discussion so fast
and furious, one sure to last
in my head for weeks to come
for we spoke on a matter of great import
one affecting all, not just some;
we spoke of reform, not of tort
in the name of America, since our time is short
before we gather at the polls
to cast a vote
for whom, nobody really knows,
policies are a coat
until one reaches office and strikes at the throat
of our great nation
once humble and free,
full of elation
as a soldier home from an Iraqi
tour, presented to his family.
--
Mr. H's insight:
This poem is about a conversation I had with someone I used to run into quite a bit when I worked at a grocery store through my last year of college and them some. I ran into him over the weekend and being a self-proclaimed Libertarian, we had a bit of a chat. This one could have been longer, but I feel it still manages to say something.
from a life already past
the night played host
to a discussion so fast
and furious, one sure to last
in my head for weeks to come
for we spoke on a matter of great import
one affecting all, not just some;
we spoke of reform, not of tort
in the name of America, since our time is short
before we gather at the polls
to cast a vote
for whom, nobody really knows,
policies are a coat
until one reaches office and strikes at the throat
of our great nation
once humble and free,
full of elation
as a soldier home from an Iraqi
tour, presented to his family.
--
Mr. H's insight:
This poem is about a conversation I had with someone I used to run into quite a bit when I worked at a grocery store through my last year of college and them some. I ran into him over the weekend and being a self-proclaimed Libertarian, we had a bit of a chat. This one could have been longer, but I feel it still manages to say something.
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Nation of the Personal Story
It's the Fourth of July
and a spirit's in the air
that nobody can deny,
compelling them to stare
into the sky from their beach chair.
Family and friends,
barbecue and beer,
gather as the sun descends
into a valley unclear
to impart warmth into cheers
Whose bubbles fly so high
they graze heaven's basement,
and inspire even the quiet to cry
out the way they were meant
when their spirits are spent
At four in the morning,
the night strikes itself silent,
without even a warning,
people grow silent
at the moment they've been lent
Just a moment of freedom
as it was intended
from the first days of the kingdom
their bliss becomes blended
for those whose night hasn't ended
God Bless America
and all of it's glory
May we be blessed to live in the
nation of the the personal story
and a spirit's in the air
that nobody can deny,
compelling them to stare
into the sky from their beach chair.
Family and friends,
barbecue and beer,
gather as the sun descends
into a valley unclear
to impart warmth into cheers
Whose bubbles fly so high
they graze heaven's basement,
and inspire even the quiet to cry
out the way they were meant
when their spirits are spent
At four in the morning,
the night strikes itself silent,
without even a warning,
people grow silent
at the moment they've been lent
Just a moment of freedom
as it was intended
from the first days of the kingdom
their bliss becomes blended
for those whose night hasn't ended
God Bless America
and all of it's glory
May we be blessed to live in the
nation of the the personal story
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Liberation, Chapter 5
If there's one experience just about anybody shares, it's losing a job.
If there's one experience just about nobody shares, it's losing a job.
Some people take the news with stride and see their departure as a new opportunity. Other people have been known to slash their ex-boss's tires with a switchblade. However that one common event unfolds, one principle always holds true; the unholy steed of stress offers its saddle to everyone, and 99% of them jump on for the ride.
Another common outcome is a thirst; a thirst for freedom, a thirst for adventure, a thirst for anything over 5% alcohol, which is typically the strongest of the three. That first, slow, coolly-carbonated drink is one of control. It's the one everybody remembers with fond memories, maybe that's why the drink leading into the fourth is remembered as the Final Fantasy. The only reason it exists is because of the self-denial that the second drink was a good as the first, which leads to the belief the third must be as good as the second, in effect being as good as the first. Anybody who knows their beverage knows that anybody who says the third drink was as good as the first is either lying or believing their self-delusions, but none can say they ever admit to it when it's them slinging the slugs. Four becomes five, six becomes eight; nobody realizes it when they've become the Nate, that guy making a bit of an ass of himself in the public eye. Nobody really notices at first, but that's also a product of self-denial. Slowly but surely, as the drinks make their way to their intended recipients and the bar tab slowly builds over the course of a few hours until it begins to resemble a college student's semesterly Starbucks budget, the mugs start to run dry and the only spirits left in the air are the excess of excitement that can only be conjured up with the perfect blend of anger, relief, self-assuredness, and ambition.
Dan sat on the sidewalk on the side of the bar, cars drove by on the main street to their side. He sat in a long-deserved state of bliss, the top of his shirt was unbuttoned and his sleeves were rolled up. He was drunk, while he and Brad waited for the cab their friend Jairo called, the pair decided to focus on the reality standing in front of them. Dan wiped the sweat from his forehead and let his face fall into his knees, although his cheerful spirit remained intact. "What am I gonna do now? All I have left is a couple hundred bucks in the bank and that damned high-interest credit card that cost me my last car." He was teetering back and forth on the edge of the sidewalk, his legs pulled into his chest.
"Don't worry about it, man. You'll think of something," Brad said as he tried to stand still, his palish face red from the spirit of the night. "Tomorrow morning, we'll wake up, go get some coffee from that girl you like, and we'll search for leads."
"And what if they're only looking for badgers?" Dan looked up at Brad with the most serious of faces.
"If they're looking for badgers you won't stand a chance. We'll make them think you are one of them and their own short-sightedness will be their downfall."
Dan stood up and staggered over to his equally debilitated friend. "Thank you, you're a true friend." Brad started laughing a little, which grew into an outburst once Dan joined in. Before long, Brad started to cough and put his hand up to cover his mouth. They soon returned to their normal selves. From around the bar, they heard their name being called. "Brad, Dan, the cab's here. Hurry up, let's go!" Jairo disappeared around the corner. "It's about time," Dan said as he started in the direction Jairo disappeared to, having to touch the wall with the tips of his fingers every couple of steps. Brad, on the other hand, staggered down the sidewalk, refusing any aid. Dan spoke, doing whatever he could to keep himself together, the alcohol was hitting him hard, "Let's go to the Waffle House... after we get back." He was starting to slur his words.
"Let's go tomorrow. Do you feel like walking a mile and a half just to get a waffle?" Brad shot back as they rounded the corner. Brad saw Jairo standing behind a front-side passenger cab door and headed over to him just as a trio of almost-thirty women walked out of the bar, clamoring on and giggling among themselves. "Here they are," Jairo said to the driver as he climbed in, and Brad, followed by Dan, filled the backseat of the cab.
"Is everyone buckled in?" The taxi driver called with a thick Russian accent as he adjusted his rear-view mirror. "Yes," Dan and Brad replied, one after the other, Dan, however was slouching slightly more than everybody else. The driver stood up in the seat and looked over at Dan from the rear-view mirror. "You look a little messed up back there. Are you going to be sick at all?" Dan gave a half-assed, yet confident "no," which led to Jairo inadvertently laughing out loud, which the driver took as suggesting otherwise. He looked back to Dan and tried concealing a worried-sounding sigh as he shifted into reverse and pulled out into the busy parkway.
Elsewhere, the spirit of the night had just begun it's daily rounds. "Hey Melissa," he said from his lawn chair, sitting upright with his legs swung over the side. She looked over at him from her own chair. Unlike her friend, Melissa was fully reclined.
"Yeah Bobby?" She said in a sweet, unassuming tone.
"You should be drinking, me and my housemates had this party so everyone could have a good time."
"I'm having fun, I'm just tired." She tried to sound as excited as she could. Bobby chuckled and she sat up in her chair and faced him.
"I'm sorry if you think I'm bored, I'm really not."
"Let's go have a shot then, we've got rum, tequila, 99 Bananas... or we could have a shot of the absinthe by brother brought back from France." Bobby played it smooth, he sounded off without as much as a stutter. Melissa stood up and Bobby followed, "Where's the bar at? It's out here somewhere right?" Her efforts were in vain as every party-minded man, woman, and underage college student were part of the obstruction standing between Melissa and the bottles of sweet liberation.
Bobby pointed between a pair of drunk dancers who were both clearly separated only by many years of age and through the audial membrane of the Hollywood Undead reaching from behind the smallish wooden bar, "Over there," Melissa took Bobby by the hand and walked over, dodging all the way. She passed by two remarkably similar-looking twenty-somethings snorting lines of cocaine on a side table, but she just ignored it, slipping between two groups of dancers and began looking at the bottles. Walking to the back of the bar, Bobby opened a small drawer, pulling out two novelty shot glasses with shrimps and fish on them and grabbed the closest bottle to his left.
"Let's try this. Every time I take a shot something good happens." He filled the shot glasses and reached for his. With her elbow on the bar, Melissa brought hers to her lips and gave Bobby her best facial taunt, which only made him laugh, which made her laugh out loud in turn. "Here's to another good night," Bobby said as he extended his arm and clinked his shot to Melissa's. They took their shots, hers right before his, their shot glasses tapping the table in the same order.
"Refreshing and self-destructive, an excellent combination."
Melissa shot to Bobby, who laughed from behind his teeth and looked across the table at her. "You're a funny girl, and pretty too." Melissa brushed his compliments aside, "let's dance." She stood up and made her way to the middle of the lanai, when she looked back and saw Bobby still seated, she waved him onto the dance floor and he reluctantly made his way to the center of the crowd in tow.
---
Back at his apartment complex, Dan leaned against the taxi, his arm rested at the top of the closed backside passenger door. Brad, on the other hand was slowly pacing back in forth in front of the taxi, tying to text or something on his phone. Jairo was ending a conversation with the driver with a few strong laughs. He handed the taxi driver a few folded up bills and some change, "Thank you sir, maybe we'll run into each other again some time," the taxi driver said as he put the money on the passenger seat. He glanced through the opposite window to the man leaning on his cab and returned to Jairo, who was walking around the front. Brad took notice and put his phone down for a second to get out of the way. Dan peeled himself away from the door and noticed Jairo before walking around the back of the taxi and towards the apartment building that lay ahead. The taxi driver shifted into gear and started driving off, the noise of the revving engine flooded out the song of the nocturnal insects.
Dan turned his head to Jairo, who was walking towards the building, hands in pockets, and he followed, pulling ahead of Jairo and passing Brad, who held his phone up to his ear, "I'll be right in, family call." He turned his back to Dan and replied with a "hello" while Dan dug through his right pocket for his keys. Dan fit the key he isolated from the rest and inserted it into the deadbolt, turned it, and put it into the door knob.
The door swung open to reveal a neatly-ordered living room complete with a blue-upholstered couch, a TV stand and setup, and a gray rug in opposition to the off-white floor. Dan fed the keys back into his pocket, took his shoes off at the door, and gravitated to the couch. Jairo was next to enter, he too removed his shoes and asked Dan if he had a bathroom. "Yeah, over there," his wide-sweeping gesture pointed to a small enclave," and on the right."
"Thanks, it's been a while since I've been over."
Dan took a long, deep breath and pulled his hands down his face to revive himself. Exhaling, he paused for a moment while Brad opened the door and stood for a moment, wrapping up his phone call.
"Yep, yep, I'll call you tomorrow... I love you too." He closed his phone and pocketed it as he walked in the door, closing it behind him.
He walked past the living room and into the kitchen just beyond and took a glass from the cabinet to fill with water from the tap. "Hey, are you alive?" Brad called from the kitchen, just as Dan got up and walked over to the television stand to snatch the remote up. "Probably," he replied, the television popped to life and he fell back into the embrace of the comfortable blue sofa, its upholstery still cool to the touch from the air conditioner. Dan slowly became entranced in the passage of television stations dancing before him. He slowed down when he got close to the cluster of channels he gravitated towards in his former years; brief and blurred visions of ultra-high resolution video game footage and their trendily-dressed commentators, modern-day American action cartoons that had long-since departed from their Japanese influences, Jean-Claude Van Demme's infamous role as Colonel William F. Guile in the American movie adaptation of Street Fighter II... Dan's former years found their avenue to catch up to him, and he found himself slowing the remote as he found himself in the middle of his favorite channels.
It wasn't until he put the remote down that he noticed Brad sitting in the chair next to his side of the couch. He looked at the untouched glass of water Brad was grasping when it made its way to him.
"You need this more than I do."
Dan took a sip from the glass and stretched forward to set it on the low table. Settling back into his couch indentation, Dan's eyes were met with some show he'd never seen before. He looked at it with intent,
"What do you think this is? Gundam? Code Geass? Full Metal Panic?"
"I don't have a clue," Brad replied, "it doesn't really look like any of them."
"Is that your final answer?" Dan laughed, half self-muffled at replying with that old, tired quote. "It's about time they made anime for our generation again. All of this new crap is the same high school-oriented stuff we watched ten years ago."
"If they did that it wouldn't make them any money, anime didn't catch on as heavily when we were kids than it does today."
Dan reeled his head at this harsh check of reality, "I just can't watch this stuff anymore." With that, Dan suppressed the TV guide button and scrolled through the listings.
"Hey, flip to the news, I want to check on something," Brad requested, the chair beneath him groaned as he settled in. Dan pointed the remote and punched in the numbers,
"and the word of the day is..." He punctuated his clause with a swift press of the final digit, and the television screen flickered into the middle of what looked like a political address. The person speaking, however, was the founder of Terran Innovation, an environmental engineering company recently charged with ethics violation and environmental destruction charges.
The CEO and founder, Leysa Kindreson, spoke from the podium to her captive audience. "...do not believe we can be held accountable. Our workers are guided by strict procedural protocol and are supervised by experts in the field..." Dan looked over at Brad, who was hanging onto every word.
"...we Can Not..." She punctuated. One of her colleagues, a silver-haired man with a comb-over adjusted his posture so he was sitting up straight, but was overcome with a tried expression. It looked as if he were reaching into his pocket before the camera re-focused on Kindreson, whose last comment had aroused a number of questions from the crowd. Reporters and protesters held their microphones and banners in the air respectively, one such banner reading "Don't take away my baby's water." Kindreson was having trouble keeping focus on just one person, and the security stepped in to part the crowds away from the stage.
"You, from INN." She selected a single reporter from the unsatiated crowd.
"Good afternoon," the female reporter said in a heavy-toned voice. "Cindy Pfam from Independent News Network. Rumors have come to our attention at INN that tell us of your security's intervention at last week's research reserve rally was in direct violation of constitutional allowances for protestors. Has this issue been brought to your attention, and if so, how do you anticipate future violations of first-amendment rights to be avoided?"
The crowd grew calm and silent. Kindreson paused for a moment, then began. "Ms. Pfam of INN, I'm glad you bring this issue forward. As a matter of fact, this issue has been brought to my attention and while I don't have any final decisions, I am considering many options at this point. My current considerations include additional training to my security staff, reducing total working hours while maintaining current pay scales, and assigning..."
*Blip*
The sudden blackening of the screen prevented Kindreson from continuing her speech, but it didn't matter to anybody in the room. Dan leaned forward and lifted off the couch, using the arm rest for balance. Brad was fast asleep in the chair next to the couch, and the bathroom door knob sounded off, producing Jairo's clearly composed form. He walked over to Dan, who was resetting the cushions on his couch.
"Hey man, how ya feelin?"
Jairo rubbed his eyes and breathed a heavy breath before extending his left hand to Dan. "I'm goin' home, buddy. You take care of yourself, and don't be a stranger."
Dan took his friend's hand in a shake and glanced at the couch, "You can stay here if you're not up for driving."
"I'm fine, just a little tired." He said, trying to sound enthusiastic enough so Dan wouldn't worry. "I barely drank anything, you know that."
Dan nodded his head in agreement. "Drive safely, hit me up some time."
"Okay, I will."
Jairo walked up to the door and unlocked it, then he walked out, leaving the door open. Dan walked up and caught Jairo pressing the lock button on his keys. Dan saw him turn towards the sound of a brief car horn, then shut the door, throwing on only the top lock. Turning around, he rubbed his eyelids and embarked up the flight of stairs before him. He opened the door just at the top of the stairs and walked in. He crawled into his bed and was about to set his alarm when he stopped his arm from reaching over fully. He paused, then retracted his hand, letting it lay on top of the comforter. He stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, taking in the silence, not allowing himself to think a single thought. When he felt his stillness of mind sinking, and thoughts of the possibility of him having to move out of his apartment, he shut his eyes and succumbed to the night's dark embraces.
---
Sunlight, filtering in between the alternating leaf blades of a royal palm frond, illuminated the empty bed space behind her back. Melissa turned over on to her opposite, left side, and her eyelids swung open, filling her vision with black palm fronds dancing in the sunlight. Scrunching her face and breathing in heavily, she sat up in the bed she lay in, taking a minute to come to her senses. Waiting for something to happen, she found the silence gnawing on her patience.
Tossing and turning around on the floor-bound mattress, she scanned the floorspace vehemently for something to put on. Settling for an old shirt hanging off the back of a chair and her own pair of capris, she departed through the half-open doorway for signs of life in the barely-familiar house. Her initial survey from outside the door produced nothing for her, and in a reluctant stride from the bedroom door, she began her foray. Melissa slowly walked through the hallway, glancing at the doors opposite one another on her sides, but declined to open them. Her mind ran through the few dozen graphic scenarios she might encounter as a result of waking somebody up. Considering how well things started getting out-of-hand the night before, this was a chance she wasn't willing to take. As she approached the top of the stairwell, the walls fell behind her and he took a look around downstairs, but found nothing aside from what would be the last straw for any professional cleaner's career.
'Where is he? He shouldn't have gone anywhere, this Is his house after all...' Melissa thought as she descended the stairwell, staying on the lookout for anything she may step in on her way down, her thoughts began rolling around in her head. She left the staircase and peered to her left into the connecting room to the kitchen and found nothing. She took a sharp left into the living room and still found nothing, even the master bedroom she somehow found the resolve to open was bare of anything living. Despite being at a loss, she tread into the kitchen, knowing nobody was there, but she didn't have anything to go off of at this point. Growing frustrated, she turned around and slowly began pacing to the living room, when she thought she heard a car somewhere nearby.
Melissa briskly walked to the front door in front of the stairwell once more to take a look out the window. When she caught the image of a dark sedan, distorted from the curves in the glass, she unlatched the door locks and walked out on to the hot, white cement walkway. As she walked, an unfamiliar person got out of the driver door and she froze in mid-stride.
"Hello," she said to the driver, "have... you seen Bobby around?"
The large man, with his shaved head, his beard shaved into narrow lines, and dark sunglasses bent over, turned his head inside the car, and called, "Hey Bobby, some girl is looking for you." A number of voices from inside the car began whooping and hollering, and the large man turned back to Melissa slowly and in jerky movements, and then the back door on the opposite side opened up, and a dark, closely-shaved head emerged over the roof-horizon. Bobby turned around quickly to face Melissa, his toothy grin provided a stark contrast to the large, black lenses hiding half of his face.
"Hey Mel, you're up. What're you doing outside?"
"Nothing, I was just looking for you is all."
He jumped out from behind the car and approached her with a plastic bag in his right hand.
"Here," he held the bag up for her. She took it and looked inside, "It's breakfast."
Melissa found a large Styrofoam box and a bottle of water inside, she opened the Styrofoam box and peered inside.
"A greasy cheeseburger and curly fries?"
"It's the breakfast of college kids everywhere," he kissed her cheek as he passed and wrapped his arm around her waist as he walked back to the house.
"Bobby, do they know what happened last night?" She looked back to the driver and the three other male passengers, who were all standing outside the car at this point and laughing obnoxiously. Bobby stopped and Melissa followed in step, "of course not, I don't kiss and tell."
The driver looked at Melissa with a cocky grin on his face, then back to everybody else at the car.
"Are you sure? They made a lot of noise at you in the car before. Did they ask you about it?"
"They asked me about it, yeah," Bobby replied, he shoved his hands in his pockets.
"Did you deny it?" Melissa's tone became more direct as she spoke.
"I... didn't deny it, but I never said anything to them. You know how guys are."
"Oh."
Bobby put his hand on her shoulder as Melissa turned to the door, "let's go inside, I'm sure you're hungry."
"Can we eat upstairs?"
"Of course, baby."
She grinned and bumped him in the side with her own.
"Okay," she said as they walked into the house together. Bobby's friends followed after them.
Once inside, Bobby gestured, white plastic bag in hand, for Melissa to go ahead. They reached the top of the stairs and turned right, walking down the hallway towards the door at the end. She opened the door and set her bag on the floor next to the mattress. Bobby emerged through the door just behind her and pushed it closed, he was greeted to a passionate kiss the moment he turned around.
"You're not mad?"
"About what?" Melissa replied.
"Nothing," he said as he kissed her again.
Melissa pulled him off of the door and on to the mattress, where they rolled around and held each other close, "I don't care if they know, I'm not a white princess."
Bobby began kissing her on the neck, "yes you are, you are to me anyways."
Melissa smiled contently at this and laid her head gently into his chest, "thanks for going to get breakfast."
Bobby placed his hand on the back of her head, "you don't have to thank me, I wanted to do it."
Melissa squirmed around until she was propped up on her elbow, "let's eat then, it smells really good now."
If there's one experience just about nobody shares, it's losing a job.
Some people take the news with stride and see their departure as a new opportunity. Other people have been known to slash their ex-boss's tires with a switchblade. However that one common event unfolds, one principle always holds true; the unholy steed of stress offers its saddle to everyone, and 99% of them jump on for the ride.
Another common outcome is a thirst; a thirst for freedom, a thirst for adventure, a thirst for anything over 5% alcohol, which is typically the strongest of the three. That first, slow, coolly-carbonated drink is one of control. It's the one everybody remembers with fond memories, maybe that's why the drink leading into the fourth is remembered as the Final Fantasy. The only reason it exists is because of the self-denial that the second drink was a good as the first, which leads to the belief the third must be as good as the second, in effect being as good as the first. Anybody who knows their beverage knows that anybody who says the third drink was as good as the first is either lying or believing their self-delusions, but none can say they ever admit to it when it's them slinging the slugs. Four becomes five, six becomes eight; nobody realizes it when they've become the Nate, that guy making a bit of an ass of himself in the public eye. Nobody really notices at first, but that's also a product of self-denial. Slowly but surely, as the drinks make their way to their intended recipients and the bar tab slowly builds over the course of a few hours until it begins to resemble a college student's semesterly Starbucks budget, the mugs start to run dry and the only spirits left in the air are the excess of excitement that can only be conjured up with the perfect blend of anger, relief, self-assuredness, and ambition.
Dan sat on the sidewalk on the side of the bar, cars drove by on the main street to their side. He sat in a long-deserved state of bliss, the top of his shirt was unbuttoned and his sleeves were rolled up. He was drunk, while he and Brad waited for the cab their friend Jairo called, the pair decided to focus on the reality standing in front of them. Dan wiped the sweat from his forehead and let his face fall into his knees, although his cheerful spirit remained intact. "What am I gonna do now? All I have left is a couple hundred bucks in the bank and that damned high-interest credit card that cost me my last car." He was teetering back and forth on the edge of the sidewalk, his legs pulled into his chest.
"Don't worry about it, man. You'll think of something," Brad said as he tried to stand still, his palish face red from the spirit of the night. "Tomorrow morning, we'll wake up, go get some coffee from that girl you like, and we'll search for leads."
"And what if they're only looking for badgers?" Dan looked up at Brad with the most serious of faces.
"If they're looking for badgers you won't stand a chance. We'll make them think you are one of them and their own short-sightedness will be their downfall."
Dan stood up and staggered over to his equally debilitated friend. "Thank you, you're a true friend." Brad started laughing a little, which grew into an outburst once Dan joined in. Before long, Brad started to cough and put his hand up to cover his mouth. They soon returned to their normal selves. From around the bar, they heard their name being called. "Brad, Dan, the cab's here. Hurry up, let's go!" Jairo disappeared around the corner. "It's about time," Dan said as he started in the direction Jairo disappeared to, having to touch the wall with the tips of his fingers every couple of steps. Brad, on the other hand, staggered down the sidewalk, refusing any aid. Dan spoke, doing whatever he could to keep himself together, the alcohol was hitting him hard, "Let's go to the Waffle House... after we get back." He was starting to slur his words.
"Let's go tomorrow. Do you feel like walking a mile and a half just to get a waffle?" Brad shot back as they rounded the corner. Brad saw Jairo standing behind a front-side passenger cab door and headed over to him just as a trio of almost-thirty women walked out of the bar, clamoring on and giggling among themselves. "Here they are," Jairo said to the driver as he climbed in, and Brad, followed by Dan, filled the backseat of the cab.
"Is everyone buckled in?" The taxi driver called with a thick Russian accent as he adjusted his rear-view mirror. "Yes," Dan and Brad replied, one after the other, Dan, however was slouching slightly more than everybody else. The driver stood up in the seat and looked over at Dan from the rear-view mirror. "You look a little messed up back there. Are you going to be sick at all?" Dan gave a half-assed, yet confident "no," which led to Jairo inadvertently laughing out loud, which the driver took as suggesting otherwise. He looked back to Dan and tried concealing a worried-sounding sigh as he shifted into reverse and pulled out into the busy parkway.
Elsewhere, the spirit of the night had just begun it's daily rounds. "Hey Melissa," he said from his lawn chair, sitting upright with his legs swung over the side. She looked over at him from her own chair. Unlike her friend, Melissa was fully reclined.
"Yeah Bobby?" She said in a sweet, unassuming tone.
"You should be drinking, me and my housemates had this party so everyone could have a good time."
"I'm having fun, I'm just tired." She tried to sound as excited as she could. Bobby chuckled and she sat up in her chair and faced him.
"I'm sorry if you think I'm bored, I'm really not."
"Let's go have a shot then, we've got rum, tequila, 99 Bananas... or we could have a shot of the absinthe by brother brought back from France." Bobby played it smooth, he sounded off without as much as a stutter. Melissa stood up and Bobby followed, "Where's the bar at? It's out here somewhere right?" Her efforts were in vain as every party-minded man, woman, and underage college student were part of the obstruction standing between Melissa and the bottles of sweet liberation.
Bobby pointed between a pair of drunk dancers who were both clearly separated only by many years of age and through the audial membrane of the Hollywood Undead reaching from behind the smallish wooden bar, "Over there," Melissa took Bobby by the hand and walked over, dodging all the way. She passed by two remarkably similar-looking twenty-somethings snorting lines of cocaine on a side table, but she just ignored it, slipping between two groups of dancers and began looking at the bottles. Walking to the back of the bar, Bobby opened a small drawer, pulling out two novelty shot glasses with shrimps and fish on them and grabbed the closest bottle to his left.
"Let's try this. Every time I take a shot something good happens." He filled the shot glasses and reached for his. With her elbow on the bar, Melissa brought hers to her lips and gave Bobby her best facial taunt, which only made him laugh, which made her laugh out loud in turn. "Here's to another good night," Bobby said as he extended his arm and clinked his shot to Melissa's. They took their shots, hers right before his, their shot glasses tapping the table in the same order.
"Refreshing and self-destructive, an excellent combination."
Melissa shot to Bobby, who laughed from behind his teeth and looked across the table at her. "You're a funny girl, and pretty too." Melissa brushed his compliments aside, "let's dance." She stood up and made her way to the middle of the lanai, when she looked back and saw Bobby still seated, she waved him onto the dance floor and he reluctantly made his way to the center of the crowd in tow.
---
Back at his apartment complex, Dan leaned against the taxi, his arm rested at the top of the closed backside passenger door. Brad, on the other hand was slowly pacing back in forth in front of the taxi, tying to text or something on his phone. Jairo was ending a conversation with the driver with a few strong laughs. He handed the taxi driver a few folded up bills and some change, "Thank you sir, maybe we'll run into each other again some time," the taxi driver said as he put the money on the passenger seat. He glanced through the opposite window to the man leaning on his cab and returned to Jairo, who was walking around the front. Brad took notice and put his phone down for a second to get out of the way. Dan peeled himself away from the door and noticed Jairo before walking around the back of the taxi and towards the apartment building that lay ahead. The taxi driver shifted into gear and started driving off, the noise of the revving engine flooded out the song of the nocturnal insects.
Dan turned his head to Jairo, who was walking towards the building, hands in pockets, and he followed, pulling ahead of Jairo and passing Brad, who held his phone up to his ear, "I'll be right in, family call." He turned his back to Dan and replied with a "hello" while Dan dug through his right pocket for his keys. Dan fit the key he isolated from the rest and inserted it into the deadbolt, turned it, and put it into the door knob.
The door swung open to reveal a neatly-ordered living room complete with a blue-upholstered couch, a TV stand and setup, and a gray rug in opposition to the off-white floor. Dan fed the keys back into his pocket, took his shoes off at the door, and gravitated to the couch. Jairo was next to enter, he too removed his shoes and asked Dan if he had a bathroom. "Yeah, over there," his wide-sweeping gesture pointed to a small enclave," and on the right."
"Thanks, it's been a while since I've been over."
Dan took a long, deep breath and pulled his hands down his face to revive himself. Exhaling, he paused for a moment while Brad opened the door and stood for a moment, wrapping up his phone call.
"Yep, yep, I'll call you tomorrow... I love you too." He closed his phone and pocketed it as he walked in the door, closing it behind him.
He walked past the living room and into the kitchen just beyond and took a glass from the cabinet to fill with water from the tap. "Hey, are you alive?" Brad called from the kitchen, just as Dan got up and walked over to the television stand to snatch the remote up. "Probably," he replied, the television popped to life and he fell back into the embrace of the comfortable blue sofa, its upholstery still cool to the touch from the air conditioner. Dan slowly became entranced in the passage of television stations dancing before him. He slowed down when he got close to the cluster of channels he gravitated towards in his former years; brief and blurred visions of ultra-high resolution video game footage and their trendily-dressed commentators, modern-day American action cartoons that had long-since departed from their Japanese influences, Jean-Claude Van Demme's infamous role as Colonel William F. Guile in the American movie adaptation of Street Fighter II... Dan's former years found their avenue to catch up to him, and he found himself slowing the remote as he found himself in the middle of his favorite channels.
It wasn't until he put the remote down that he noticed Brad sitting in the chair next to his side of the couch. He looked at the untouched glass of water Brad was grasping when it made its way to him.
"You need this more than I do."
Dan took a sip from the glass and stretched forward to set it on the low table. Settling back into his couch indentation, Dan's eyes were met with some show he'd never seen before. He looked at it with intent,
"What do you think this is? Gundam? Code Geass? Full Metal Panic?"
"I don't have a clue," Brad replied, "it doesn't really look like any of them."
"Is that your final answer?" Dan laughed, half self-muffled at replying with that old, tired quote. "It's about time they made anime for our generation again. All of this new crap is the same high school-oriented stuff we watched ten years ago."
"If they did that it wouldn't make them any money, anime didn't catch on as heavily when we were kids than it does today."
Dan reeled his head at this harsh check of reality, "I just can't watch this stuff anymore." With that, Dan suppressed the TV guide button and scrolled through the listings.
"Hey, flip to the news, I want to check on something," Brad requested, the chair beneath him groaned as he settled in. Dan pointed the remote and punched in the numbers,
"and the word of the day is..." He punctuated his clause with a swift press of the final digit, and the television screen flickered into the middle of what looked like a political address. The person speaking, however, was the founder of Terran Innovation, an environmental engineering company recently charged with ethics violation and environmental destruction charges.
The CEO and founder, Leysa Kindreson, spoke from the podium to her captive audience. "...do not believe we can be held accountable. Our workers are guided by strict procedural protocol and are supervised by experts in the field..." Dan looked over at Brad, who was hanging onto every word.
"...we Can Not..." She punctuated. One of her colleagues, a silver-haired man with a comb-over adjusted his posture so he was sitting up straight, but was overcome with a tried expression. It looked as if he were reaching into his pocket before the camera re-focused on Kindreson, whose last comment had aroused a number of questions from the crowd. Reporters and protesters held their microphones and banners in the air respectively, one such banner reading "Don't take away my baby's water." Kindreson was having trouble keeping focus on just one person, and the security stepped in to part the crowds away from the stage.
"You, from INN." She selected a single reporter from the unsatiated crowd.
"Good afternoon," the female reporter said in a heavy-toned voice. "Cindy Pfam from Independent News Network. Rumors have come to our attention at INN that tell us of your security's intervention at last week's research reserve rally was in direct violation of constitutional allowances for protestors. Has this issue been brought to your attention, and if so, how do you anticipate future violations of first-amendment rights to be avoided?"
The crowd grew calm and silent. Kindreson paused for a moment, then began. "Ms. Pfam of INN, I'm glad you bring this issue forward. As a matter of fact, this issue has been brought to my attention and while I don't have any final decisions, I am considering many options at this point. My current considerations include additional training to my security staff, reducing total working hours while maintaining current pay scales, and assigning..."
*Blip*
The sudden blackening of the screen prevented Kindreson from continuing her speech, but it didn't matter to anybody in the room. Dan leaned forward and lifted off the couch, using the arm rest for balance. Brad was fast asleep in the chair next to the couch, and the bathroom door knob sounded off, producing Jairo's clearly composed form. He walked over to Dan, who was resetting the cushions on his couch.
"Hey man, how ya feelin?"
Jairo rubbed his eyes and breathed a heavy breath before extending his left hand to Dan. "I'm goin' home, buddy. You take care of yourself, and don't be a stranger."
Dan took his friend's hand in a shake and glanced at the couch, "You can stay here if you're not up for driving."
"I'm fine, just a little tired." He said, trying to sound enthusiastic enough so Dan wouldn't worry. "I barely drank anything, you know that."
Dan nodded his head in agreement. "Drive safely, hit me up some time."
"Okay, I will."
Jairo walked up to the door and unlocked it, then he walked out, leaving the door open. Dan walked up and caught Jairo pressing the lock button on his keys. Dan saw him turn towards the sound of a brief car horn, then shut the door, throwing on only the top lock. Turning around, he rubbed his eyelids and embarked up the flight of stairs before him. He opened the door just at the top of the stairs and walked in. He crawled into his bed and was about to set his alarm when he stopped his arm from reaching over fully. He paused, then retracted his hand, letting it lay on top of the comforter. He stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, taking in the silence, not allowing himself to think a single thought. When he felt his stillness of mind sinking, and thoughts of the possibility of him having to move out of his apartment, he shut his eyes and succumbed to the night's dark embraces.
---
Sunlight, filtering in between the alternating leaf blades of a royal palm frond, illuminated the empty bed space behind her back. Melissa turned over on to her opposite, left side, and her eyelids swung open, filling her vision with black palm fronds dancing in the sunlight. Scrunching her face and breathing in heavily, she sat up in the bed she lay in, taking a minute to come to her senses. Waiting for something to happen, she found the silence gnawing on her patience.
Tossing and turning around on the floor-bound mattress, she scanned the floorspace vehemently for something to put on. Settling for an old shirt hanging off the back of a chair and her own pair of capris, she departed through the half-open doorway for signs of life in the barely-familiar house. Her initial survey from outside the door produced nothing for her, and in a reluctant stride from the bedroom door, she began her foray. Melissa slowly walked through the hallway, glancing at the doors opposite one another on her sides, but declined to open them. Her mind ran through the few dozen graphic scenarios she might encounter as a result of waking somebody up. Considering how well things started getting out-of-hand the night before, this was a chance she wasn't willing to take. As she approached the top of the stairwell, the walls fell behind her and he took a look around downstairs, but found nothing aside from what would be the last straw for any professional cleaner's career.
'Where is he? He shouldn't have gone anywhere, this Is his house after all...' Melissa thought as she descended the stairwell, staying on the lookout for anything she may step in on her way down, her thoughts began rolling around in her head. She left the staircase and peered to her left into the connecting room to the kitchen and found nothing. She took a sharp left into the living room and still found nothing, even the master bedroom she somehow found the resolve to open was bare of anything living. Despite being at a loss, she tread into the kitchen, knowing nobody was there, but she didn't have anything to go off of at this point. Growing frustrated, she turned around and slowly began pacing to the living room, when she thought she heard a car somewhere nearby.
Melissa briskly walked to the front door in front of the stairwell once more to take a look out the window. When she caught the image of a dark sedan, distorted from the curves in the glass, she unlatched the door locks and walked out on to the hot, white cement walkway. As she walked, an unfamiliar person got out of the driver door and she froze in mid-stride.
"Hello," she said to the driver, "have... you seen Bobby around?"
The large man, with his shaved head, his beard shaved into narrow lines, and dark sunglasses bent over, turned his head inside the car, and called, "Hey Bobby, some girl is looking for you." A number of voices from inside the car began whooping and hollering, and the large man turned back to Melissa slowly and in jerky movements, and then the back door on the opposite side opened up, and a dark, closely-shaved head emerged over the roof-horizon. Bobby turned around quickly to face Melissa, his toothy grin provided a stark contrast to the large, black lenses hiding half of his face.
"Hey Mel, you're up. What're you doing outside?"
"Nothing, I was just looking for you is all."
He jumped out from behind the car and approached her with a plastic bag in his right hand.
"Here," he held the bag up for her. She took it and looked inside, "It's breakfast."
Melissa found a large Styrofoam box and a bottle of water inside, she opened the Styrofoam box and peered inside.
"A greasy cheeseburger and curly fries?"
"It's the breakfast of college kids everywhere," he kissed her cheek as he passed and wrapped his arm around her waist as he walked back to the house.
"Bobby, do they know what happened last night?" She looked back to the driver and the three other male passengers, who were all standing outside the car at this point and laughing obnoxiously. Bobby stopped and Melissa followed in step, "of course not, I don't kiss and tell."
The driver looked at Melissa with a cocky grin on his face, then back to everybody else at the car.
"Are you sure? They made a lot of noise at you in the car before. Did they ask you about it?"
"They asked me about it, yeah," Bobby replied, he shoved his hands in his pockets.
"Did you deny it?" Melissa's tone became more direct as she spoke.
"I... didn't deny it, but I never said anything to them. You know how guys are."
"Oh."
Bobby put his hand on her shoulder as Melissa turned to the door, "let's go inside, I'm sure you're hungry."
"Can we eat upstairs?"
"Of course, baby."
She grinned and bumped him in the side with her own.
"Okay," she said as they walked into the house together. Bobby's friends followed after them.
Once inside, Bobby gestured, white plastic bag in hand, for Melissa to go ahead. They reached the top of the stairs and turned right, walking down the hallway towards the door at the end. She opened the door and set her bag on the floor next to the mattress. Bobby emerged through the door just behind her and pushed it closed, he was greeted to a passionate kiss the moment he turned around.
"You're not mad?"
"About what?" Melissa replied.
"Nothing," he said as he kissed her again.
Melissa pulled him off of the door and on to the mattress, where they rolled around and held each other close, "I don't care if they know, I'm not a white princess."
Bobby began kissing her on the neck, "yes you are, you are to me anyways."
Melissa smiled contently at this and laid her head gently into his chest, "thanks for going to get breakfast."
Bobby placed his hand on the back of her head, "you don't have to thank me, I wanted to do it."
Melissa squirmed around until she was propped up on her elbow, "let's eat then, it smells really good now."
Monday, February 27, 2012
Monday Morning Conference Call at McDonalds
The time has been set,
the setting always stagnant.
8:30 at McDonald's,
could I be more ecstatic?
Coffee or orange juice
to sip while I wait
for the regional merchandising manager
to make this another Monday I live to hate.
Merchandise this
so they can profit from that,
it's the same old beat every week
an hour-long chit-chat
that I'm always distracted from
with the drop of a hat
due to its bland atrocity
from the man on the east coast
dressed in his fat.
French fries sizzle
in a vat of molten fat,
while our respected elders
hold their own chit-chat.
Obama this,
Newt Gingrich that,
Oh God, it's happened again!
I have the attention span of a gnat.
Angry Birds,
played on unmute
while I play the theme song
in my head on a lute.
The call presses on,
and I sharpen my ears
only to hear someone's quote
from Whitney's last years.
Why do I bother
listening to this trash?
Every Monday morning they tell us
How we're going to make them cash.
The cash, yes
that must be it.
Why else would I care
to submit myself to this shit?
All I do is sit there
an hour at McDonald's
and listen to this guy talk
to twenty other vultures.
While they're in listen,
mouths sat in a gape,
they too get paid to sit,
and listen to that damned, dirty ape.
So I guess it's not bad
to get paid for a break,
because I never really listen,
I just sit and escape
into the chit-chatter of peers
and childhood development belate.
This will be a defining mark
of just one of my many years.
the setting always stagnant.
8:30 at McDonald's,
could I be more ecstatic?
Coffee or orange juice
to sip while I wait
for the regional merchandising manager
to make this another Monday I live to hate.
Merchandise this
so they can profit from that,
it's the same old beat every week
an hour-long chit-chat
that I'm always distracted from
with the drop of a hat
due to its bland atrocity
from the man on the east coast
dressed in his fat.
French fries sizzle
in a vat of molten fat,
while our respected elders
hold their own chit-chat.
Obama this,
Newt Gingrich that,
Oh God, it's happened again!
I have the attention span of a gnat.
Angry Birds,
played on unmute
while I play the theme song
in my head on a lute.
The call presses on,
and I sharpen my ears
only to hear someone's quote
from Whitney's last years.
Why do I bother
listening to this trash?
Every Monday morning they tell us
How we're going to make them cash.
The cash, yes
that must be it.
Why else would I care
to submit myself to this shit?
All I do is sit there
an hour at McDonald's
and listen to this guy talk
to twenty other vultures.
While they're in listen,
mouths sat in a gape,
they too get paid to sit,
and listen to that damned, dirty ape.
So I guess it's not bad
to get paid for a break,
because I never really listen,
I just sit and escape
into the chit-chatter of peers
and childhood development belate.
This will be a defining mark
of just one of my many years.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Liberation: Chapter 4
A flash of light from the sun accented the moment perfectly.
Akira Kitsune drew his katana with lightning speed and held it low, reaching across his body. The tip threw its captured sunlight at their foe, who stubbornly stepped out of the shadows. "Hey there," this foe spoke, his stance was completely open, arrogant; he was either very skilled or was trying very hard to seem so. Akira's eyes wouldn't move from his direction, he was intent on discovering a flaw in his form, but that moment never came. Mere feet away, the mystery man spoke, "Akira Kitsune, retainer of the Chisan Shogunate. I've heard you're good." In the same moment he fell silent, the unfamiliar person's sword was already drawn. He held it high, and turning it upside down, he buried the very end into the moist soil at his feet.
Akira observed his unusual foe, "you must be a mercenary." Akira's opponent smiled brightly, his eyes catching the light radiating from Akira's blade. The man crouched low, his rear leg moving steadily behind him, katana in tow, "that's right, there's a pretty price on that head of yours. Who wouldn't pay top-dollar for the man reputed to have broken his vow of honor to Shogun Chisan and defeated an entire outpost of men within an hour." The crouching man licked his lips in anticipation. "I've been waiting for a good fight, can you believe I haven't faced a worthy adversary in over a month? I feel like I'm getting rusty." Akira appeared to be angered from the mercenary's words, "scum like you don't belong in his country. Only honorable men and women deserve to live in Japan, you're a poison to this sacred nation." The mercenary looked at his opponent with steely eyes, "you're one to talk. This country values its honor, and you threw yours away," a sick smile formed from the mercenary's lips, and he spoke in a quick and sinister tone, "Now let's stop talking and fight."
The mercenary lunged forward, leading with his rear leg. Akira reacted to the movement by stepping backwards and deflecting the incoming sword by driving its end into the sky, then kicked his opponent in the chest, knocking his back to the ground, his katana lay just out of his reach to the right. Akira pressed his foot into the mercenary's chest to keep him on the ground. "You're nothing but a novice, an amateur. You don't deserve to chase after my bounty." The mercenary's eyes began to fill with fear and he struggled furiously to reach his katana, but Akira kept his back pressed firmly to the ground. "G... gah! N, no. D, d, don't kill me."
Akira raised his sword up high, the tip pointing downward, "You're spirit's too weak to win this fight, you're nothing but a coward waiting to be erased," Akira muttered as he tightened his grip around his katana's hilt. "I am the anti-venom to this country's suffering," Akira plunged the blade downwards, and the mercenary's final words escaped into the wind, "N, no!!"
Everything fell silent...
Then the lights dimmed away, leaving the audience with the scene of Akira Kitsune crouched over the mercenary. A broad, velvet curtain cut the audience away from the scene they had just witnessed. At first, the crowd was enveloped in a shroud of silence, save for a few, select souls who had reveled in the display of passion. Their claps gave rise to a larger, second wave of applause, less enthusiastic as a whole than the first. Among the minority sat a girl in her early twenties. Soon after the second wave of applause had begun, she placed her elbows on her lap and rested her head on her upturned hands. She faced the stage with a contented smile on her face.
The applauding masses gradually fell towards silence, and the curtains rustled slightly before they retracted and revealed the entire cast of the play standing in line next to each other. Akira Kitsune, the mercenary, who had a prop sword sticking through the front of his costume, a humble-looking village girl, two boys who shared remarkable similarity to one another, and old man with a sickle tied to his back, and a border officer wearing a rounded, grass hat with a point at the top.
The young girl stood up and cheered for the cast, looking at the old man in particular, who sent a warm smile radiating in her direction. She smiled back to him and began looking for a way out of the jungle of dusty, red velvet chairs.
Once she reached the atrium, she took a seat on the opposite side of a specific stairwell, she knew she'd see her father shortly.
When the time came, she attempted to sort him out from the hundreds of attendees who were making their way to their luxurious, fuel-efficient cars. She recognized him by the round, pointed hat he was wearing. She just looked at him if full-costume and shook her head back and forth slowly, wearing a smile that was holding back a giggle that if released full-force would attract the attention of at least a family of three.
When she caught her next glimpse of him, after two rich-looking ladies passed in front of her, he had tipped the front of the hat over his eyes, as she'd seen from Akira Kurosowa's samurai characters. Her laugh broke through and she covered her mouth suddenly and thrust her face down, which didn't prevent any looks from the occasional passerby.
The pair, father and daughter, sat down on the floor of a dark room in the back of the theater. The coffee they held in classic theater-play mugs was both mediocrely-hot and slightly stale, "did you enjoy it," her father asked, waiting for her to reply before he drank. She held her mug close to her body with a hand on the bottom, "I did, you played a good dying old man." He set his coffee between his crossed legs and held his left hand to his chin, "I'd hope so, I Am getting on the rotting side."
"No you're not. You'll outlive everybody who came to see you tonight."
He took another sip of his coffee and held it in his hands, "I appreciate the optimism, honey. But I'm not immortal like Akira Kitsune."
"He's not immortal, he's just honorable, more so than the other characters," she took a sip of her coffee, "that's why he can't be beaten by all of those strong people." She looked at her father with an 'I bet you didn't know I understood that' look. He looked back at her with an joyous, interested expression, "How's life been? Have you met your Oedipus yet?"
Had she been sipping her coffee, she would have spit it all over her lap, instead, she looked up at him with a quick glance and looked him in the face silently. He looked back, making goofy facial expressions before he settled into an infectiously warm smile which made its way to his daughter, "Dad, you're too sarcastic for your own good. You're going to get yourself into trouble one of these days." She brushed the dark hair out of her face and sipped her coffee, holding the mug with both of her hands, never breaking eye contact with the silly old man in front of her.
He scoffed, trying to cover the smile on his face, "you're too strict on me. When will you just let me be myself for once?" He joked. His daughter just smiled and shook her head, ran her fingers over the side of her face, and let her head fall into the hammock formed by her hand.
"Didn't you say to me earlier you wanted to take me somewhere?" The old man questioned, knowing the answer already. "Oh, yeah," she said as she reached into her jacket pocket to look at her cell phone. "Shit, it's so late."
"Is that going to be a problem?"
"No, no. It isn't, I was supposed to call someone."
"A boy?"
"Kinda... not for that reason though."
"Is it a work thing?"
"No, it's not that either. Don't worry about it. It's not important."
She closed her phone and replaced it in her jacket pocket, "let's get going, you're going to love it," she said with a smile.
----
It was ten o' clock. The cars along third street ran alongside the sidewalk pedestrians with a pompous zeal, taking whatever opportunity they could to show their superiority before reaching their destination and joining the inferior masses on their nightly pilgrimages. Only a few drivers actually drove with courtesy towards the crowd they knew they would soon be joining. One of the former slowed down and took a right on a corner regardless of the cross-walkers who had already begun making their way across the busy street. He knew they were far enough away that he wouldn't hit any of them, they hadn't even made it to the street.
A familiar face was present in the half-down drivers-side window. Dan drove down the crowded avenue until he found a parking spot. He flashed his turn signal, put his car in reverse, and backed into the spot with all the grace of a humpback whale. When he shifted into park, after a couple bouts of tug-of-war between (D) and (R), he grabbed his computer bag and climbed out, locking the door from the sidewalk; traffic began moving again. Hooking a right and walking south, Dan pulled the cell phone out of his pocket and started scrolling through his missed calls. Someone had been trying to call him, but he refused to answer while he was driving, he didn't want to be an asshole.
The phone began dialing, and he jumped out of the way of a middle-aged lady he almost ran into the back of, his computer brushed her arm only slightly. She looked at him with an estranged and demeaning expression, and he waved with a smile and continued his faster-than-normal march to his weekend perch. As soon as he brought the phone up to his ear again, a female voice sounded off, "hello, Carla speaking," Dan smirked.
"Hey there, what's going on?" Dan waited for a reply, "Hi Damn, I mean Dan. My mistake."
"Carla? Are you having as wonderful as an evening as I am?" Dan smirked.
"I'm not relentlessly chasing down girls just out of high school if that's what you're asking," the phone whipped back.
"Touche, did you get a chance to run those quotes for me today?"
"I sure did, too bad you weren't around when we had to call them. Some got very upset, you would have enjoyed it."
"Please tell me you saved a couple for me on Monday." Dan said in a rather disappointed tone.
"Criminals don't get any justice in this town, I heard you got arrested."
"Only if you consider being puked on, kicked, and yelled at by a very large and scary man as being arrested." "He did all that to you? You should have gotten his number."
"How could I have been so inconsiderate? I completely forgot that you go for guys like that."
"Only on sick days, hun," the phone paused, "I saved you a couple of special cases. They're sure to be very upset customers."
"You know I live for this shit, Carla."
A silence formed between Dan and his phone; it filled up, bloated at the edges, and eventually burst from the pressure.
Dan spoke, "I've got it covered. If I'm not too hung over in the morning I might even call them then."
The phone chuckled. "Good luck, and see you on Monday." The phone fell silent. "God, I love 2011."
---
He could see it from down the street, "Burt's Cafe au Lait & Coffee Bar," a little coffee shop whose owner decided that since McDonald's decided to break into gourmet coffee, he should try it himself. The conversion hadn't gone quite as he planned, however. Claude, the owner of Burt's, never knew much about gourmet coffee and people stopped coming altogether. It wasn't until he hired Rita, a former Starbucks manager, that the coffee bar began attracting customers back. Dan was one of the newer customers, and while he knew he could get a better cup of coffee down the street, he came to this particular coffee bar every week.
Dan walked in through the front door and began to set up shop. Laptop computer, USB mouse, and wall charger in check, he walked up to the counter to order. "Hey Dan, what can I get for you?" A young girl asked of him. "I'll have a medium coffee, no sugar, no cream, and no room, please." The girl smiled, looking up at him from her downcast face, her fair skin was illuminated from the overhead lamps. "Will that be it?" Dan nodded and hummed an "Mmhmm" at her, "$2.04." She grabbed his coffee and he handed her the money. "Here's your change, happy camping." She threw him a quick smile and greeted the customer in line behind him.
Melissa was a friendly face to him. Dan used to frequent the bookstore Melissa used to work at long before she started working at Burt's. She was friendly to him then, and friendly to him now. They used to sit outside, bum cigarettes from each other, and tell each other stories of their past deeds. She was younger than him, by about seven years, but they had always shared a particular chemistry between one another which coincidentally led them into some deep conversations. When she started working at Burt's, Dan knew it was a sign, he didn't know what kind, but knew it was a sign.
By the time Dan got his coffee and sat back down, Windows had just finished loading, and it would soon ask for a password. He entered the same password he had been using since high school, looking at the keyboard all the while. He looked out the window and around the store before meeting Melissa with his line of sight. Her dark, braided hair fell over her shoulder as she leaned over the counter and her smile was simply stunning. She faced him and stared him down with a goofy smile for a few seconds before returning to her customer. Sheathing his smile, he returned to his computer and booted up his word processor. Opening his last saved file, he began scanning over his previous writing before starting a new line.
"When the current system is challenged, the people who strive for change are held accountable for anything that can be considered "damage," and they are punished." Dan paused for a moment to think, then began typing again. "At this point, the people can either stand up and demand a new system or create a new one of themselves. If the latter occurs, however, the new system must eventually stand up to the established system if change is to be obtained." Dan took a quick sip from his coffee and leaned his head against his left hand.
Just then, the chair in front of him was pulled out and was quickly filled with a someone, a female, "Hey dere." Dan tried to sound Canadian as best he could for that moment. He seemed to be rewarded for his efforts. Melissa had set a clear, disposable cup filled with lemonade in front of Dan. "This might help you. Hydration works wonders." Dan reached over and grasped the cup, taking a sip from the straw. "Not bad, it's a little on the cardboard-tasting side but I can manage." Melissa smiled brightly, rolling her eyes and audibly huffing, "Hey Dan, you want to go out for a cigarette?" Dan slipped the straw out from his lips."Nah, I'm not smoking anymore," he looked at her with an overly-serious expression, "smoking kills, children," he said in a television announcer-like voice. Melissa didn't laugh very much, but she replied without much of a delay. "At least come outside and talk with me if you won't smoke. Dan bowed his head for a second and replied, "sure thing. I'm just worried about my stuff."
Melissa shrugged, "the guys here will watch it, don't worry," she said, blinking rapidly as she spoke.
Outside, Dan checked the time on his phone. "How've you been? It's been a while since you've worked."
She blew out a puff of smoke. "Good," she said in a climbing tone, "semester's over now, so I'll be working here more for a few weeks. You should come by more, I miss seeing you."
Her up-front demeanor caught Dan off guard, "Good, cause I miss seeing you around. It's not the same place without you."
She threw her face downwards to conceal her smile, "I know, the guys here need me more than they know."
"I'll say. Everybody else gives me a sort of weird glance whenever I order just a coffee."
"You know that I, at least, understand your weirdness," she said self-assuredly, then burst out with a series of quick chuckles.
Dan smiled with her. He'd missed his friend, that wasn't a lie. It was also true that some of the workers always seem to be struck with some form of shock-and-awe when he ordered a plain cup of coffee. In this town, nobody seemed to enjoy the simpler pleasures in life, other than Melissa, of course.
"Since it's the weekend and all, and I'm working early, we should go see a movie." Dan liked the idea, and he's had definite feelings for her from time to time, but he knew that he was too old for her. It was about time he started focusing on girls his own age, he told himself. "I'm actually packed for the weekend. I have to be the bad guy and call people to tell them they're being cancelled."
Melissa didn't waste a second, "that's even better, a movie will be the perfect way to get your mind off of it. It'll just be as friends, it's not like it'd be a date or anything."
Dan thought for a second before replying. "Sorry, but I'll have to decline."
It wasn't Melissa that Dan was worried about, it was him. He knew that if he went to see a movie with her, he'd want more from Pandora's Box, and he'd gone down that same route before with younger women, and Melissa was a woman by every definition of the word, he felt it was time for him to move on to older women for once in his life.
"So what are you writing?" Melissa paused for a moment, looking at the side of Dan's face, her back to the wall, "you seem pretty wrapped up in it."
Dan turned to look at Melissa, "it's an essay. I used to write a lot in college, and it's been so monotonous at my job, I wanted to start writing again, so I'm writing an essay about politics." Melissa took a drag and fully exhaled before replying, "that's cool. Is it about Democrats and Republicans or something?"
"Kind of, it's more of an imaginative piece, predicting how a revolution would occur, what leads up to it, and how it would possibly end. I dunno, I had more fun in school with poetry."
"You should do that, then."
"I would, but poetry doesn't have much of a place nowadays. How would I ever get noticed with everybody else out there who have been writing since they were kids?"
"That isn't what it's about all the time. It's about expression, getting out all of the things inside that weigh you down. Poetry is one of the soul's many languages, it's not something that you can learn because everybody in the world was born knowing how to do it."
It was in these moments of insight that Dan truly felt attracted to her, when he was certain that she was the perfect girl for him. If only they had met at another time in their lives.
"You're right, I should do that more. My job is so frustrating that getting some of that out would do me some good." She smiled, "then you should do that instead of your big-headed political essay." He smiled toward her. "Go on, shoo!" She signaled with her left hand, "I'm going to finish this up, you go inside and write me something." Dan remained still, but made a funny face at her, turning his head to the side and looked at her with one eye, much in the same way a bird would, "I'll do that, and I'll make you proud, grand, grandmaster of all things expressive." She chuckled at his goofiness. "Go inside already." Dan turned his back to her and looked over his shoulder, "I'm already gone."
Dan took off around the corner and Melissa stood there, watching him for a brief moment before returning to her cigarette.
Akira Kitsune drew his katana with lightning speed and held it low, reaching across his body. The tip threw its captured sunlight at their foe, who stubbornly stepped out of the shadows. "Hey there," this foe spoke, his stance was completely open, arrogant; he was either very skilled or was trying very hard to seem so. Akira's eyes wouldn't move from his direction, he was intent on discovering a flaw in his form, but that moment never came. Mere feet away, the mystery man spoke, "Akira Kitsune, retainer of the Chisan Shogunate. I've heard you're good." In the same moment he fell silent, the unfamiliar person's sword was already drawn. He held it high, and turning it upside down, he buried the very end into the moist soil at his feet.
Akira observed his unusual foe, "you must be a mercenary." Akira's opponent smiled brightly, his eyes catching the light radiating from Akira's blade. The man crouched low, his rear leg moving steadily behind him, katana in tow, "that's right, there's a pretty price on that head of yours. Who wouldn't pay top-dollar for the man reputed to have broken his vow of honor to Shogun Chisan and defeated an entire outpost of men within an hour." The crouching man licked his lips in anticipation. "I've been waiting for a good fight, can you believe I haven't faced a worthy adversary in over a month? I feel like I'm getting rusty." Akira appeared to be angered from the mercenary's words, "scum like you don't belong in his country. Only honorable men and women deserve to live in Japan, you're a poison to this sacred nation." The mercenary looked at his opponent with steely eyes, "you're one to talk. This country values its honor, and you threw yours away," a sick smile formed from the mercenary's lips, and he spoke in a quick and sinister tone, "Now let's stop talking and fight."
The mercenary lunged forward, leading with his rear leg. Akira reacted to the movement by stepping backwards and deflecting the incoming sword by driving its end into the sky, then kicked his opponent in the chest, knocking his back to the ground, his katana lay just out of his reach to the right. Akira pressed his foot into the mercenary's chest to keep him on the ground. "You're nothing but a novice, an amateur. You don't deserve to chase after my bounty." The mercenary's eyes began to fill with fear and he struggled furiously to reach his katana, but Akira kept his back pressed firmly to the ground. "G... gah! N, no. D, d, don't kill me."
Akira raised his sword up high, the tip pointing downward, "You're spirit's too weak to win this fight, you're nothing but a coward waiting to be erased," Akira muttered as he tightened his grip around his katana's hilt. "I am the anti-venom to this country's suffering," Akira plunged the blade downwards, and the mercenary's final words escaped into the wind, "N, no!!"
Everything fell silent...
Then the lights dimmed away, leaving the audience with the scene of Akira Kitsune crouched over the mercenary. A broad, velvet curtain cut the audience away from the scene they had just witnessed. At first, the crowd was enveloped in a shroud of silence, save for a few, select souls who had reveled in the display of passion. Their claps gave rise to a larger, second wave of applause, less enthusiastic as a whole than the first. Among the minority sat a girl in her early twenties. Soon after the second wave of applause had begun, she placed her elbows on her lap and rested her head on her upturned hands. She faced the stage with a contented smile on her face.
The applauding masses gradually fell towards silence, and the curtains rustled slightly before they retracted and revealed the entire cast of the play standing in line next to each other. Akira Kitsune, the mercenary, who had a prop sword sticking through the front of his costume, a humble-looking village girl, two boys who shared remarkable similarity to one another, and old man with a sickle tied to his back, and a border officer wearing a rounded, grass hat with a point at the top.
The young girl stood up and cheered for the cast, looking at the old man in particular, who sent a warm smile radiating in her direction. She smiled back to him and began looking for a way out of the jungle of dusty, red velvet chairs.
Once she reached the atrium, she took a seat on the opposite side of a specific stairwell, she knew she'd see her father shortly.
When the time came, she attempted to sort him out from the hundreds of attendees who were making their way to their luxurious, fuel-efficient cars. She recognized him by the round, pointed hat he was wearing. She just looked at him if full-costume and shook her head back and forth slowly, wearing a smile that was holding back a giggle that if released full-force would attract the attention of at least a family of three.
When she caught her next glimpse of him, after two rich-looking ladies passed in front of her, he had tipped the front of the hat over his eyes, as she'd seen from Akira Kurosowa's samurai characters. Her laugh broke through and she covered her mouth suddenly and thrust her face down, which didn't prevent any looks from the occasional passerby.
The pair, father and daughter, sat down on the floor of a dark room in the back of the theater. The coffee they held in classic theater-play mugs was both mediocrely-hot and slightly stale, "did you enjoy it," her father asked, waiting for her to reply before he drank. She held her mug close to her body with a hand on the bottom, "I did, you played a good dying old man." He set his coffee between his crossed legs and held his left hand to his chin, "I'd hope so, I Am getting on the rotting side."
"No you're not. You'll outlive everybody who came to see you tonight."
He took another sip of his coffee and held it in his hands, "I appreciate the optimism, honey. But I'm not immortal like Akira Kitsune."
"He's not immortal, he's just honorable, more so than the other characters," she took a sip of her coffee, "that's why he can't be beaten by all of those strong people." She looked at her father with an 'I bet you didn't know I understood that' look. He looked back at her with an joyous, interested expression, "How's life been? Have you met your Oedipus yet?"
Had she been sipping her coffee, she would have spit it all over her lap, instead, she looked up at him with a quick glance and looked him in the face silently. He looked back, making goofy facial expressions before he settled into an infectiously warm smile which made its way to his daughter, "Dad, you're too sarcastic for your own good. You're going to get yourself into trouble one of these days." She brushed the dark hair out of her face and sipped her coffee, holding the mug with both of her hands, never breaking eye contact with the silly old man in front of her.
He scoffed, trying to cover the smile on his face, "you're too strict on me. When will you just let me be myself for once?" He joked. His daughter just smiled and shook her head, ran her fingers over the side of her face, and let her head fall into the hammock formed by her hand.
"Didn't you say to me earlier you wanted to take me somewhere?" The old man questioned, knowing the answer already. "Oh, yeah," she said as she reached into her jacket pocket to look at her cell phone. "Shit, it's so late."
"Is that going to be a problem?"
"No, no. It isn't, I was supposed to call someone."
"A boy?"
"Kinda... not for that reason though."
"Is it a work thing?"
"No, it's not that either. Don't worry about it. It's not important."
She closed her phone and replaced it in her jacket pocket, "let's get going, you're going to love it," she said with a smile.
----
It was ten o' clock. The cars along third street ran alongside the sidewalk pedestrians with a pompous zeal, taking whatever opportunity they could to show their superiority before reaching their destination and joining the inferior masses on their nightly pilgrimages. Only a few drivers actually drove with courtesy towards the crowd they knew they would soon be joining. One of the former slowed down and took a right on a corner regardless of the cross-walkers who had already begun making their way across the busy street. He knew they were far enough away that he wouldn't hit any of them, they hadn't even made it to the street.
A familiar face was present in the half-down drivers-side window. Dan drove down the crowded avenue until he found a parking spot. He flashed his turn signal, put his car in reverse, and backed into the spot with all the grace of a humpback whale. When he shifted into park, after a couple bouts of tug-of-war between (D) and (R), he grabbed his computer bag and climbed out, locking the door from the sidewalk; traffic began moving again. Hooking a right and walking south, Dan pulled the cell phone out of his pocket and started scrolling through his missed calls. Someone had been trying to call him, but he refused to answer while he was driving, he didn't want to be an asshole.
The phone began dialing, and he jumped out of the way of a middle-aged lady he almost ran into the back of, his computer brushed her arm only slightly. She looked at him with an estranged and demeaning expression, and he waved with a smile and continued his faster-than-normal march to his weekend perch. As soon as he brought the phone up to his ear again, a female voice sounded off, "hello, Carla speaking," Dan smirked.
"Hey there, what's going on?" Dan waited for a reply, "Hi Damn, I mean Dan. My mistake."
"Carla? Are you having as wonderful as an evening as I am?" Dan smirked.
"I'm not relentlessly chasing down girls just out of high school if that's what you're asking," the phone whipped back.
"Touche, did you get a chance to run those quotes for me today?"
"I sure did, too bad you weren't around when we had to call them. Some got very upset, you would have enjoyed it."
"Please tell me you saved a couple for me on Monday." Dan said in a rather disappointed tone.
"Criminals don't get any justice in this town, I heard you got arrested."
"Only if you consider being puked on, kicked, and yelled at by a very large and scary man as being arrested." "He did all that to you? You should have gotten his number."
"How could I have been so inconsiderate? I completely forgot that you go for guys like that."
"Only on sick days, hun," the phone paused, "I saved you a couple of special cases. They're sure to be very upset customers."
"You know I live for this shit, Carla."
A silence formed between Dan and his phone; it filled up, bloated at the edges, and eventually burst from the pressure.
Dan spoke, "I've got it covered. If I'm not too hung over in the morning I might even call them then."
The phone chuckled. "Good luck, and see you on Monday." The phone fell silent. "God, I love 2011."
---
He could see it from down the street, "Burt's Cafe au Lait & Coffee Bar," a little coffee shop whose owner decided that since McDonald's decided to break into gourmet coffee, he should try it himself. The conversion hadn't gone quite as he planned, however. Claude, the owner of Burt's, never knew much about gourmet coffee and people stopped coming altogether. It wasn't until he hired Rita, a former Starbucks manager, that the coffee bar began attracting customers back. Dan was one of the newer customers, and while he knew he could get a better cup of coffee down the street, he came to this particular coffee bar every week.
Dan walked in through the front door and began to set up shop. Laptop computer, USB mouse, and wall charger in check, he walked up to the counter to order. "Hey Dan, what can I get for you?" A young girl asked of him. "I'll have a medium coffee, no sugar, no cream, and no room, please." The girl smiled, looking up at him from her downcast face, her fair skin was illuminated from the overhead lamps. "Will that be it?" Dan nodded and hummed an "Mmhmm" at her, "$2.04." She grabbed his coffee and he handed her the money. "Here's your change, happy camping." She threw him a quick smile and greeted the customer in line behind him.
Melissa was a friendly face to him. Dan used to frequent the bookstore Melissa used to work at long before she started working at Burt's. She was friendly to him then, and friendly to him now. They used to sit outside, bum cigarettes from each other, and tell each other stories of their past deeds. She was younger than him, by about seven years, but they had always shared a particular chemistry between one another which coincidentally led them into some deep conversations. When she started working at Burt's, Dan knew it was a sign, he didn't know what kind, but knew it was a sign.
By the time Dan got his coffee and sat back down, Windows had just finished loading, and it would soon ask for a password. He entered the same password he had been using since high school, looking at the keyboard all the while. He looked out the window and around the store before meeting Melissa with his line of sight. Her dark, braided hair fell over her shoulder as she leaned over the counter and her smile was simply stunning. She faced him and stared him down with a goofy smile for a few seconds before returning to her customer. Sheathing his smile, he returned to his computer and booted up his word processor. Opening his last saved file, he began scanning over his previous writing before starting a new line.
"When the current system is challenged, the people who strive for change are held accountable for anything that can be considered "damage," and they are punished." Dan paused for a moment to think, then began typing again. "At this point, the people can either stand up and demand a new system or create a new one of themselves. If the latter occurs, however, the new system must eventually stand up to the established system if change is to be obtained." Dan took a quick sip from his coffee and leaned his head against his left hand.
Just then, the chair in front of him was pulled out and was quickly filled with a someone, a female, "Hey dere." Dan tried to sound Canadian as best he could for that moment. He seemed to be rewarded for his efforts. Melissa had set a clear, disposable cup filled with lemonade in front of Dan. "This might help you. Hydration works wonders." Dan reached over and grasped the cup, taking a sip from the straw. "Not bad, it's a little on the cardboard-tasting side but I can manage." Melissa smiled brightly, rolling her eyes and audibly huffing, "Hey Dan, you want to go out for a cigarette?" Dan slipped the straw out from his lips."Nah, I'm not smoking anymore," he looked at her with an overly-serious expression, "smoking kills, children," he said in a television announcer-like voice. Melissa didn't laugh very much, but she replied without much of a delay. "At least come outside and talk with me if you won't smoke. Dan bowed his head for a second and replied, "sure thing. I'm just worried about my stuff."
Melissa shrugged, "the guys here will watch it, don't worry," she said, blinking rapidly as she spoke.
Outside, Dan checked the time on his phone. "How've you been? It's been a while since you've worked."
She blew out a puff of smoke. "Good," she said in a climbing tone, "semester's over now, so I'll be working here more for a few weeks. You should come by more, I miss seeing you."
Her up-front demeanor caught Dan off guard, "Good, cause I miss seeing you around. It's not the same place without you."
She threw her face downwards to conceal her smile, "I know, the guys here need me more than they know."
"I'll say. Everybody else gives me a sort of weird glance whenever I order just a coffee."
"You know that I, at least, understand your weirdness," she said self-assuredly, then burst out with a series of quick chuckles.
Dan smiled with her. He'd missed his friend, that wasn't a lie. It was also true that some of the workers always seem to be struck with some form of shock-and-awe when he ordered a plain cup of coffee. In this town, nobody seemed to enjoy the simpler pleasures in life, other than Melissa, of course.
"Since it's the weekend and all, and I'm working early, we should go see a movie." Dan liked the idea, and he's had definite feelings for her from time to time, but he knew that he was too old for her. It was about time he started focusing on girls his own age, he told himself. "I'm actually packed for the weekend. I have to be the bad guy and call people to tell them they're being cancelled."
Melissa didn't waste a second, "that's even better, a movie will be the perfect way to get your mind off of it. It'll just be as friends, it's not like it'd be a date or anything."
Dan thought for a second before replying. "Sorry, but I'll have to decline."
It wasn't Melissa that Dan was worried about, it was him. He knew that if he went to see a movie with her, he'd want more from Pandora's Box, and he'd gone down that same route before with younger women, and Melissa was a woman by every definition of the word, he felt it was time for him to move on to older women for once in his life.
"So what are you writing?" Melissa paused for a moment, looking at the side of Dan's face, her back to the wall, "you seem pretty wrapped up in it."
Dan turned to look at Melissa, "it's an essay. I used to write a lot in college, and it's been so monotonous at my job, I wanted to start writing again, so I'm writing an essay about politics." Melissa took a drag and fully exhaled before replying, "that's cool. Is it about Democrats and Republicans or something?"
"Kind of, it's more of an imaginative piece, predicting how a revolution would occur, what leads up to it, and how it would possibly end. I dunno, I had more fun in school with poetry."
"You should do that, then."
"I would, but poetry doesn't have much of a place nowadays. How would I ever get noticed with everybody else out there who have been writing since they were kids?"
"That isn't what it's about all the time. It's about expression, getting out all of the things inside that weigh you down. Poetry is one of the soul's many languages, it's not something that you can learn because everybody in the world was born knowing how to do it."
It was in these moments of insight that Dan truly felt attracted to her, when he was certain that she was the perfect girl for him. If only they had met at another time in their lives.
"You're right, I should do that more. My job is so frustrating that getting some of that out would do me some good." She smiled, "then you should do that instead of your big-headed political essay." He smiled toward her. "Go on, shoo!" She signaled with her left hand, "I'm going to finish this up, you go inside and write me something." Dan remained still, but made a funny face at her, turning his head to the side and looked at her with one eye, much in the same way a bird would, "I'll do that, and I'll make you proud, grand, grandmaster of all things expressive." She chuckled at his goofiness. "Go inside already." Dan turned his back to her and looked over his shoulder, "I'm already gone."
Dan took off around the corner and Melissa stood there, watching him for a brief moment before returning to her cigarette.
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