"The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new." —Beckett (Murphy).
"Focus." I muttered
No quote seemed to sum up the grey air of the lazy winter morning better. Thin drifts of snow wove weightlessly in perfect rhythm, across the black of the unwary Windsor streets. There was snow on just about everything, save for the black lines where cars zipped back and forth.
Ice cold water gathered on the window sill, dripping down from the glass and leaving blurry tracks that reflect the city lights in a way that makes the place seem small and comfortable. I had to credit Detroit, if only for its wintry poetry. Really. The people were rude, the clouds were dark, and the public transportation was just plain terrifying. No sir. Not an Upgrade. The Weather sucked. The streets were messy, the houses were falling over, and if restaurants kept closing, the whole town would disappear.
That's not to say I'd ever go back, understand.
The shallow smiles and dim yellow light, the indie folk music, the sound of keys clacking, and the quiet track of people having muted, interspersed conversations, and, yes, the smell of coffee, were making me slowly fall in love with city life.
The image of working mornings at a coffee shop was always too appealing to me to resist. Starbucks was a coffee shop, in any sense of the word. But, man. The people. The people ruin it. They're always so mortal, so- so oblivious to their mortality; they're always so damn happy. Like calm down. Take a minute to think about how many things you've done today that might have destroyed your life.
Don't they get it? How fake it all is? No. They just buy coffee, and type, and laugh, and enjoy their money spent on one-time consumables.
Sometimes I want to scream.
But, most of the time, I just want to make people their stupid delicious coffee and move to the bouncy acoustic guitar riffs.
Christ. Sorry about all that. In case you haven't caught on, I'm sad. I'm a sad person with the scientific backing to remain sad, and the breezeblocks to keep me from happiness. I have to vampire off of the positive energy around me to keep myself from sleeping on the floor.
That's the one reason this all holds together. The sanctuary of coffee and happiness is the only place in this sad city where I'm safe.
I am a sad knight, in a tiny castle, with only a green apron for armor, and a pen for a sword.
And Detroit is the dragon.
YOU ARE READING
Of Iced Coffee and Existentialism. Ezra Understands People. Salinger Does Not. Light Salinger is a fully, wholly sad person. Sad is just part of the job for him. He has earned his sadness. Ezra Kerouac is lost, scared, afraid, and deafened by the em...