tis the season

A woman with dark luscious unwashed tendrils spewing from her scalp walks down the narrow aisle of dark wood tables with hooks on the sides, one of which is occupied by a voluptuous espresso satchel. She slides into a booth facing the rear of the kitchen, keeps her glasses on, then digs in her bag. After grabbing and placing a small black object in front of her on the table, she presses a few buttons and then speaks softly in one end.

“The climate is so strange in this Midwestern humidity. Rays of sun are constantly beaming upon human faces whose bodies have wrinkled as quickly as the leather bags who’ve aged as soon as they leave the department stores from whence they’ve departed in glossy shopping bags. Each day seems to repeat itself and the clouds’ movement never stays the same for more than one hour. I find myself dreaming old memories, which I thought faded into mental peripherals, but am now realizing are being brought to the forefront of my mind as concepts of desire impeding forward progression. Then there’s the issue of style– establishing and portraying a sense of self to the world regardless of the destination or climate. Why in the workplace does one’s style marry regulations of dress imposed by authorities who’ve seemingly not perused the contents of a trustworthy collection of knowledge regarding ideas, colors, fabrics, images, stories, individuality?”

Heavy breathing of the oncoming server comes closer to the woman’s table. “Hi, what can I get for you today.” After a brief pause, the woman continues speaking to the microphone in the same volume.

“As a member of a generation who has grown accustomed to depending on more technological sources of knowledge…”

The server shifts her weight and whispers, “I’ll give you a few more minutes.”

“I’ve found myself dumbfounded by determining my place in the workforce especially when there are influences of my behavior hindering the expression of my self I wish to achieve in a professional and creative manner in more settings than one. Given the vast disappointment in procuring employment with a substantial form of compensation for my time and skill level, I scratch my head in irritation because I know there is more for us in this universe and listen to stories in wonderment of those who simply asked the universe for achievements and happiness, who consequently created the masterpiece of their life’s actions with calling upon the forces of nature to bring favorable results in their directions. Sometimes the greed of it all seems too enticing to explore and discuss with the public but on the other hand, one cannot deny the fun life would be made. What other purpose do humans have except to enjoy the fruits of fervent labor?”

She stops and presses a button to end the recording and sits motionless. To the left of the woman are two young thirty-something year olds. The male speaks passionately as the female stirs her shake slowly. “I really feel like the cosmic forces are telling me to stop smoking. I mean, swiping the lighter was just a last straw kind of sign. If I can’t stop the impulse to retain someone’s lighter or remember money to bring for product I fully intend to purchase, I shouldn’t be allowed to smoke in the company of others or be trusted to handle money. Honestly though, tell me what you think.”

The woman takes a sip from the red striped straw, swallows delicately and exhales, “The last thing you want is to hear what I’ve got to say.”

He replies, “Please just skip the nonchalance with the dramatic sequence of events I’m sharing with you and tell me whether I’m placing too much value in omens or I’m fully capable of utilizing this medicine as a tool for all creative purposes.”

“I think you should focus on why you want to negotiate the possibility of investing time and money on a resource that doesn’t exist in a way that one would imagine…Whatever, the thing that’s on my mind is the way I was smoking a cigarette on my patio last night and heard footsteps nearby. I was too drunk to prop my head up and way too unprotected to combat an assault.”

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