Stranger's Etiquette
Shoulders back, light feet. 'Living,' as a form of entertainment.
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Disco ball replaces the Moon the youth dance to a midnight choir. Enjoy the feast of holy cuts. At daybreak, one question from one of the hopeful - ‘“On love, is it spectrum between How Much Will I Change vs. How Much Will I Do For Them?”
“We watched you dance last night. Stiff and rigid hips. Your mind is too much like an economist to understand.”
Lean in and ask - the cherry of top of their perception, “what’s the opportunity cost of something such as a fully pumping heart?”
“A relaxation that’ll lullaby you to death.”
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I soon woke up to sunlight. Felt blood pumping throughout my body: Rushing around as if to say, Why Are We Still In Bed? Jump up. Rush out the door before my mind can catch my body. In the car. Click on the soundtrack for the day:
Pablo Escobar’s Chill Summer Day that kicks off with latin rhythm classic Juana La Cubana:
Haganle una rueda a Juana
Porque ya empezo a bailar
Esa morena cubana
Nos va hacer hasta sudar
Young man at the stoplight next of me. Dodge Charger (red), Stud earring (Silver) Fitted flatbill (Atlanta Braves), 11 O ‘'Clock shadow, bouncing music. Young Man (n.) Douche. Not the worst kind. Only the Monster-Energy-kind. This type is loyal. Unpredictable. A fine line to waltz… Keep them away from a 12 pack and a Yamaha 2 stroke. Judge quick, judge decisive. Years of experience give the ability to judge the book by it’s cover.
Studying his side profile and his nose - Grecian type, drops straight from his forehead. He’s watching hawklike the woman walking across the street. She’s slim, tall and confident shoulders - slide, glide - the way they teach in antebellum homes complete with Byzantine finish dome, Corinthian columns. Debutante dress now replaced by a baggy sweats. Behind her is a maladaptive dog on a pink leash, struggling to breath, struggling to survive. Man played God in the arena of Life and all we got were Pugs and Seedless fruit.
Our young man watches her with longing. The type of gaze reserved for Shelleyesque poets. Lost in the middle ground between what the senses are showing him and his imaginative visions. He looks with depth. She’s unaware. A domino. Unaware he’s watching her, he’s unaware I’m watching him and I’m aware that someone, from somewhere is watching me. I’m afraid to turn around to look in the back seat so to calm down I grab a triple espresso.
Electric. Melancholic. Ecstasy. Routine. The full spectrum stretches along a vulnerable mind like sun through glass turning into a rainbow. Unlike that of the * * * * this one is open minded, really, and -
it’s full. It's all encompassing. Sadness blue, red anger, you know how the colors go as well as how a man like this moves... He bops his head. He's always dodging. Unseen opponent. Invisible boxer. Ghost of Ali - Rumble in The Crumble of a bygone Culture that he remembers dim hues of. Still yet he bops, pops, drops, nods up and down to the hidden beat that cruises atop the human nervous system. Shimmy off the despair, he bows to the imagined crowd "Encore! Encore! Encore!" before dancing down the street.
It is as it is. Today follow the unseen melody East End Cafe. There exist pictures from American 60’s that look less 60’s than here and Grateful Dead on the speakers are the only thing giving away that I’ve not been transported back in time. 3:32pm. From the bar stool, four regulars turn to give me the you’re-not-a-regular look. I nod my head down while keeping eye contact with the Alpha. A leather bag looking woman in a flower blouse with eyes that challenge me to Oklahoma drill for ownership of this place. She can have it. I have a runny nose and only need some sweet tea. A sweet tea or a hug. I’ll settle on the former today. I’m not looking for a fight. Dorris can have this diner to herself. The cafe inside The Big Picture, The Great Dance Hall, all the random patterns. The schizophrenic sees through the veil as it becomes transparent to him - while staying black for us.
A tip toeing waitress. Appearing from the mist of fry grill smoke - “hey honey, how many?”
Just me today.
“Sometimes that’s the best company, ain’t it honey?”
I pat myself down. Trying to make sure I’m not warm golden liquid. Nod politely to myself and her. I ask a smile to stretch across my face and it does.
She tells me to follow her and I would… I would through an antique store… through a creaky wooden home found deep in the holler, I would follow her all the way throughout the twist and curving history of Biscuits. How they’re made. How they’re perfected. What time the Rooster crows to make sure you’re up to begin the process.
“What can I get you baby?”
Tea and sandwich, please.
The Grateful Dead plays their third song in a row. It may be the first time a food joint has been caught - by me - playing an album instead of a station.
No drinking or cigaretting. Which means I’m left getting my Buzz from society and when this is All you have you realize it’s more than enough. The freaks are out. The animals walk on two legs. They speak English. The Insane disguise themselves as normal and in this place I can take my mask off and breathe.
“Anything else I can get you, sweet pea?”
An invention- one that’s placed at every table in every restaurant where, if you need/want something, you can click a button. I enjoy the silence. Ma’am your voice has a taste. It mixes with my sweet tea but not the fries. I ask you to be a spy in the house of diners, hawking from a distance.
And maybe through words I come off as cold, calloused. But in person they see the eyes of a young man, one that wants to protect - or squeeze for himself - the juice of life’s fruit.
What’s it like to be open and closed off at the same time? Ask the happy man who’s lips came out the womb in a frown. Or the sad woman with jolly red cheeks. They live on the poles. Human nature gets bored and turns to extremes or dies off. It loses access to the vine, the vein. You’re at risk of death when this happens. I remember being proud of you… now it’s either my memory that’s gotten worse or you’ve let me down. Both are able-to-be-improved. We will work together. Hold the faith! Hold the hope!
Im looking for a new place to live. Walking into an apartment complex. A full belly, a to-go cup of sweet tea and some Motion. The woman, girl, a human who said the words, “I’m much much older than I look,” is touring me around and while inside the empty unit she turns, looks longingly, and asks my zodiac sign. I lie. She takes it in stride, “I knew it!
WINSTON
SOULED IDEA
DR. LIGHTHEART
