In The Corner

He is sitting on the bar stool, he swivels around and takes a look around. Some times he sees new faces and some times he sees old faces, mostly he is just looking to just look. Time is running out for just looking. Paul is in the corner again; he is over there with a brief case beside his chair and the jacket to his three-piece suit on the back. He has a stiff drink in one hand and the other is animating some conversation with the man across the table from him. Paul has been here forever, and probably will be here for another forever, work has become his family, his wife and kids. Paper and short novels fill up his life instead of special events and dinners at home. For now, and forever home is going to be that seat in the corner with is name on it, with a drink at the table and a companion that might come by every once and a while.

Davy, another old sole is watching Paul’s hand going round and round slowly. They are both too drunk to really care what the other is saying, but the conversation is important. It is what they both come here for, and sit the corner. To talk about something other than a sad life that they share, and he shares it with them. Loneliness… But Davy’s work is not like Paul’s; Davy is in the navy, going up the ranks, he is proud. He is an old sole but he doesn’t come to the bar much anymore, only because the aspiring master chief needs to be on his boat like anyone responsible sailor.

Nine-O-Clock

Top of the brim is full, that point where it almost spills over, so close but yet so far. This one does not cost him a dime neither did the one before. John always does it this way, it is part of the pay, it is part of the job, it make the work flow so much better. The silver smooth metal spins as it floats down the bar. Floating like it was a small boat of the calm lake of life. It reaches him with a swift stop, but he doesn’t go for it, he lets it stop and rest, because he is resting, he stopped along time ago, but John never remembers. That is ok though, he always forgives, he realized that might make him happy some day, one day, but not today, happy is far off and the light at the end of the tunnel has not shown yet.

John has been here for ever and he always tells him the joke of the week. But time is showing who is going to come out on top for this fight, and John knows this. It brings him down, but not low. His smile fades faster now than it use to, he knows he could have been more, important. What John does not know is that he is important, but just not to the right people, but some people that are not scene and not heard are some times the most important of all. John… John… if he could only get out of this place, he thinks, he could make what ever he wants of him self, but he is glad that John is here now.

The Dark Sky

The sky is dark, it is dark when he goes to bed and it is usually dark when he wakes up. Today he had a chance to see the real sun and it was good. The body needs vitamin D to survive and the sun is the best way to get it. He misses the sun, but he loves being a night owl. It is such a different life; just this walk is totally different. His walk to work, he usually sees no one, and if he does it is not a normal no one, it is a different no one. These people are either on the street because this part of the day the street is there home, or they are just like him, their pupils huge and round, going somewhere to do something.

He arrives at the door, big and heavy and red. The green trim needs to be painted again and the man at the door greets him with a smile and nothing else. He opens the door to a dark room, a big dark room, sectioned off but little half walls and a small stage with his work atop. He finds his way to his normal stool, and sits atop like it’s his job. Elbows on the edge and feet on the bottom rug, the bartender walks over and fills a glass by the tap. The golden liquid is allows for the nights work, it usually makes the work better, but only if it is not in excess, the liquid that is.

Next to him is a man doing the same thing he is, elbows on the bar, feet on the bottom run. They turn and see each other, and then they recognize each other. They know each other well, well enough to not know each other’s names. He has a lot of relationships like this one, but this friend is a good one. The other man talks, in a slow slurred gin-smelling voice. He asks the man for a favor, a small one that at that, but a very important one. He asked for a memory, the man asked him to give him something back that he had lost a long time ago, when he wore a younger man’s cloths. One he knew compete, but could not remember with out a little help. It was sad and it was sweet, and it was a small favor.

He nodded and agreed, this was not the first time this happened, and it wont be the last, this memory is important to him too. It brings him back to where he loves to be, and yes it was sad, but it was so so sweet as well. He could think of exactly what he was going to do, a quick nod in the direction of the man, and start his work, but only when it was time. He went back to his golden liquid only to find the bottom of his glass, and the bartender quickly noticed. A grab, a pure and back to what he remembered. This should be a quick one though, it is almost time.

The red alarm of life

He checks the time on his watch, a pair of hands tell him that it is close to the time to make a decision. He could go home or be extremely early to work. Contemplation starts, there are friends at work and none at home, there is music at home but there is no one to great him at the door. How he could use a wife. If he was this early he would be looked at weird, and then work would end up being way to long to bear! A decision to go home.

The walk takes shorter than he planed and the door opens faster than he wanted. A sigh at the entrance of the apartment, his home, empty. He takes off his coat and places it on the couch as he flops to the cushions, and he leans back, head going over the back. He is now looking at this sky, the moon stars and sun. A horizon that has an end. A sigh and he closes his eyes and dreams of a life with some one he could share his dreams and passons. She could be sitting by him with her head on his shoulder or in his lap. Her warm skin next to his, her soft hair with a sweet smell filling his breaths with everything he has ever wanted. Oh how he craves this life.

A alarm from the bathroom, his dive watch, the red watch he loves so much that he does not wear it except for his under water trips of life. The alarm. The sound, and his eyes open. He realizes that it is time to go, to get up and do what he enjoys. Work.

No more tasks to do, no more eating to do, no more dressing to do, just up and out the door with his keys, coat and mind. As he walks down the street passing people he has never seen before but sees everyday, he gets his mind ready for what is ahead of him. A night of work. A daily ritual he has to do to let himself focus, because focus is drive and drive is what is needed to complete the night.

The sweet texture of fire

Keys, wallet, shoes, and a coat and out side he goes. Walking down the street he thinks of what is next and he decides that food would be a good idea. Something light but filling. Something to satisfy what really is not bothering him, his empty stomach, but he knows if he does not fill the beast will rumble later with pain and emptiness, funny that is how he sometimes feels, empty pain.

The bagel shop, yes that is what he wants, a sandwich, a good sandwich, one he always craves, no matter what time or what he is eating this one sandwich is almost everything to him, for some reason it speaks to him.

He walks inside; the smell of bread hits him like a brick wall, how romantic. He walks to the counter and looks at the different kinds of bagels; one that stands out with color is his decision. And he steps up to order, the attractive attendant knows him like the back of her hand, she turns around, grabs a bagel and turns back. She whips out her knife, cuts the bagel with out nicking her fingertips. He stares in aw while she puts everything that makes this dream of a sandwich come true. No words are spoken until it is time to exchange slight touches of fingertips for products of nurishment and meaningful paper.

She smiles at him and he smiles back, he wonders if she would make a good wife, if she is loving, and if he could love her the way he wants to. With everything in his heart, like once before, but he also wonders if he could ever do that again. But that is too much to really think about at this moment, in his hands in something that dreams can be made of, his holy sandwich. He picks his seat, right by the window, but not against it, it is to cold to sit there this season. He peals his coat off and places it on the chair back, scoots in and opens the paper that covers what he is now craving. Already cut in half, just like mom use to do, just the way he likes it, oh how he can just pick up a half and devour it, and life begins in his mouth. The taste of fire, sweet fire, the texture of it all mixes. A swallow and the feeling of warmth his stomach, and he looks out side, at the street, the back street behind the building. It is the fronts to some other back street buildings, usually nothing is going on but today, nothing his going on, he can look at a place that could be filled with people doing things, going places. He could be staging at hundreds of bustling people going places where he cannot, going to do tasks that seem important, they have a purpose. But he is looking at bare concrete and tar. Parked cars and sidewalks. How he enjoys the peacefulness of this part of the city, peace in the city, how rare!

Done with his sandwich he waists no time, the takes the paper that once held his dream and craving and makes it in to a ball. Makes his way to the trash and places the ball in its proper place. As we walks by the counter he nods at the attendant and she nods back, the though of the wife situation comes back into his mind, a sweet thought that he could save for later.

The craving is gone, but will come back, he could take another sandwich and eat it but why ruin what he has with what he believes in, with what brings him a little joy once and a while.

Simple Smile to please the mind

He looks for his uniform for the day in his room; he finds some pants that will work and a shirt that will please the customers. But it pleases him as well, it is soft to the touch, but stiff to the eye, and it makes him look they way he would like to feel. It is funny how cloths make the man sometimes, but how he feels at the end of the day is what is on his mind. And the end of his day is going to be something tomorrow. He sighs again and keeps plugging along at his afternoon tasks.

He walks back in to the kitchen, but this time he sits on the couch, the kitchen is part of the living room in his small city apartment. How he loves his apartment, in the middle of life, the living city. He turns on his TV to see moving pictures but no sound, there will be enough sound later today that he enjoys the quiet of now. Pictures role across the screen and he turns to his computer. The small box that shows him the world that he can’t reach all the time. He looks at news photos and comics. Some enjoyments of life are so simple yet so complex, a simple smile from seeing a daily comic or a small child’s smile on a news photo can give a man the energy to change the world, but not today, there is work to be done, but will his work change a life?

He leans back in his chair and looks to the sky, a roof that coves his head with the moon stars and sun all painted so when it is cold out, he can still see what he needs to think. A long streach, arms out wide over his head, a strain, grunt and yawn and he is done. Now he shoots out of his chare, jumps to his feet. Looks around at what is next, but there is nothing next, there is no more to his home that needs to be done. A walk would surface; to walk the veins of the city could clear his already clear mind, but give him something to do.

Cafineen for the day

A short walk to the kitchen, not to far from where his feet first touched the ground. He looks up to the exposed cubbords, no doors to hide his food. He likes it that way, no wasted time opening and closing, just reaches for what calls his name and calls his stomach.

He reaches for a box of tea, dark and smooth and sighs at the work that has to be done to make something that could warm his not so warm sole. And he gets started; runs the water, brown then clears then brown then clear. The rust of life flows just as smooth as his thoughts this early in the morning. But it is not morning, it is only to him, a afternoon that somewhere else in the world someone is doing the same thing he is.

His tea is done, dark no milk or sugar, straight up very few people like it that way. It is something to think about when you drink it, he looks in his cup and decided that it is time to finish what he started. His tea is gone and his cup is placed in the sink, some caffeine to make the day livable, because later it wont be cafineen it will be some other liquid that makes him pass the time.

Getting out of bed

He wakes up early after noon

He realizes that it is a day of work and that me must get him self out of bed and go to work like everyone else in this world. He must make his mark in the wet cement of life and hopefully change a life for the better

There are not children in his life and there is not time for them either. He has to many things he wants to do, but how he sometimes wishes for a little girl to call his own, to name July and show the world. To take with him ever where he goes, but not today, he doesn’t have time for her.

He roles out of his double bed and place his feet on the floor, early after noon… and time for breakfast. Something he has not had in years. His room is cluttered with clean and dirty laundry, odd objects that really have no meaning to him, what he treasures his hidden away where prying eyes of the not so common passer by can’t ask him what they mean to him and why. He feels that an explanation should only be in his head, for his inner ear to hear and no one else’s.