This path, this path I'm walking on?
It takes me to the market, that's what it does. And I have no complaints despite the elevation. I got these headphones right here pumping out deep, soulful house. I love to boogie. That’s who I am. So I walk up that hill, sliding, gliding, don't matter how steep it is. Been doing the plank, you know, tightening up that core. It’s a low-budget regimen. The work gets you where you gots to go. Always hustling. Sure enough though, $40 dollars, it’s what I have in my pocket right now. And I’m proud of that. Pushed around some snow last week, yup, yup. So yeah. Where was I going with this?
It don’t matter. But I know I need a lemon. I'll figure out the rest after I make me a cup of coffee at the customer service desk, with the raw sugar and the oat milk, which is always—on the house!—so generous, but also, super-stress. Check your rear-view, mind your side mirrors, because you just might get an elbow in the rib if you’re not swizzle-sticking fast enough. I’ve seen folk walk up in the market, make a beeline to the coffee station, prepare their beverage just the way they like, then—scram!—they gone. A well choreographed dramatization of generosities and gotta-get-mines. So I wait in the wings and observe, entertained by the ballet of self determination (flying elbows) and civility (no, no, after you, I insist) which is also the perfect time to review my shopping list. You see, I consider myself a connoisseur of sorts: sun dried tomatoes, dark chocolate. Little delicacies, right?
Choo-choo, like a train, chugging up that ridge!
Anyways. I have my demons, but please, trust me when I say this—I am an enthusiastic dreamer. I mean, would you hold my hand if I were taking my last breath on a sandy beach at magic hour? Would you? That kind of thing. The majestic redwoods protecting us from the evil spirits as I slowly drifted into space? Romantic as hell. I care about people, I really do. For fuck’s sake, now I’ve forgotten the point of it all.
Perhaps I was thinking about that five pound bag of Nicaraguan dark roast I purchased last week after a recent windfall from a little under-the-table. It’s curious though, because, on that very same day—and it’s clear as a bell, trust me—I was helping a buddy move out of their cubbyhole because the roof started to leak after twelve nights of non-stop rain. My beautiful friend, so compassionate, just trying to make ends meet. But it’s a happy ending, and I’ll tell you why. We're shacking up again! That’s right, it's not our first go-around, but thankfully, we share some intimacies, like, coffee kisses and midnight honeymoons, but enough about love:
⌘