So Im sittin here with coffee, starin into space thinkin about stuff (a favorite and daily activity)... Im pondering all the new businesses in this stretch of storefronts, all the white people in their weekend clothes, all wellfed and chatting about little shit. Four of the same come out of the cafe and get into this Prius right in front of me and drive off. Its replaced by yes, another Prius and two more urbanites with barely worn casual wear and $200 shoes get out. I cant help but smirk but that only lasts a second... the now all too familiar nausea and panic sets in, that combination of feeling trampled without a sound while another block no longer feels like home anymore. From this spot, this one spot in a chair I can look in each direction and remember a dozen personal stories and see the moments on all these corners like they were yesterday. Is today sitting here one of the last stories here that Ill have? Its a strange, slow, desperate grief. To be trampled by glib, smiling people that dont even know you exist. Such a tenuous existence, I walk a fragile wispy line, suspended, barely visible between a sense of doom and a violent rage. I rely on my sheer stubbornness and endurance to keep moving.
Posted on: Sun, 03 Aug 2014 19:13:45 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015