Wait, whaaat? All the bitching I do about how fucking vile Starbucks coffee is and I'm making random observations from WHERE? Well, it's where Sunshine meets with the men he sponsors every Saturday, and since I was insistent that we spend the day together, here I am; sipping a sweaty bottle of their Ethos water and watching my Mollie puppy nod off at my feet.
It is a beautiful afternoon, the kind of afternoon we don't get too often here in the south. The wind is picking up here in the ArkLaTex, and the humidity isn't opressive yet. Storms are expected this evening and overnight, and I can almost smell them on the breeze. The clouds have rolled in, taking the razor-sharp edge off of the afternoon sun. I love this sort of weather (as long as it doesn't get too severe, because surviving one tornado was quite enough thank you), and right now it feels as if the breeze is blowing the dust out of the neglected corners of my soul.
I hear the comforting sounds of my Sunshine's voice, the hum of the passing traffic, my friend Hollywood reading aloud from a book he and Sunshine are studying, the soft sounds of jazz, and the unmistakable sound of an old redneck pickup truck with no exhaust system.
On the other side of the glass, a young woman talks animatedly, using her hands to make her point. She is drinking their vile ass brew, which is what hip young people do, I suppose. Oversized SUVs and pickup trucks pass through the drive-through lane, because Starbucks and their vile brew have a monopoly on coffehouses in this town.
The breeze is mussing my hair. I can't wait to get an answer to the email I just sent my friend Ray, who is firmly ensconced in his new life in beautiful Barcelona. I wrote it in Spanish, and I bet he picks it apart, correcting all of my grammatical mistakes and inadequate vocabulary. I bet he also is pleased to see that the only english I used is to give the word I was trying to convey, in case my inadequate Spanish vocabulary gave me the wrong translation.
Why do I tell you these things?
Because, my friends, I am finally starting to feel alive again. After three months of drudgery and misery at that job, I am finally starting to breathe again.
Inhale. Smell the city (if that is what you want to call this craptastic blip on the map).
In spite of the fact that we are on the patio at a fucking Starbucks, right now it feels a little more like a speakeasy in the prohibition era. I sit here typing with a cigarette dangling from my lips (you might be a redneck if you can tell somebody to fuck off without dropping the cigarette hanging from your mouth); Sunshine and Hollywood are in the corner smoking; jazz dances from the speakers.
Horns interrupt the reverie. Fuck the horns. Those are people with different values than us.
The young woman still waves her hands to emphasize her point on the other side of the glass. She is the the younger generation, with the world at her feet. I hope she conquers the world the way she has conquered her tablemates.
Tomorrow, it is supposed to rain. How I look forward to waking up to the sound of rain on the roof of the magic bus, the feeling of puppy paws on my face as Mollie gives me wake-up kisses. How I have missed the way Sunshine laughs sleepily as she turns to him to tell him: "wake up!" At this moment, that is the future that awaits me. Life is good.
The young woman and her tablemates have gotten up to leave. I shall miss her animated presence on the other side of the glass.
This is the world I live in this afternoon. This is the moment I am living in, and it is indescribably beautiful. Thank you for sharing it with me.