alone in big cities

Apr 25, 2008 - 21:11 PM PST
For the past hour I’ve taken lefts then walked straight, circumventing the city in blocked spirals. I am alone and supposed to be succeeding in transition. I sit and I read, smoke cigarettes all the while. People eat and I am people so along a convoluted path I spot some pizza by the slice. The woman behind the counter is so friendly with the current patron. Cheese and root beer for her little girl, the mother orders a beer and her boyfriend, I think, does the same. I grab dinner and set up at the far counter, opposite a large window facing the street. A bus stop brings the crowd and I feel distant behind a glass wall. Everyone I see fully embraces a unique style. There are purple pants, black pants, sturdy carpenter pants used for fashion, all too tight. Men wear long hair softened with product, teased at the ends. Their ears are stretched with blue discs, some carry cameras capturing the carnival of life this city breathes. I look down at un-ravaged blue jeans modestly covering beige sneakers. Too much parmesan, I poured it on only for something to do. The Midwest is unmistakable in me.
A woman is talking on her phone, smiling, with friends. She’s wearing a scarf, loose around the neck, but short enough to display youthful, poised breasts. She returns to a man, my age, with two cigarettes, one for him. The two cast a celebrity over a concrete corner flagged by SE 32 Ave. They’ve brought two puppies, future bulldogs, twins, one a boy the other a girl. They have a miniature bowl to share dried food and a little mesh basket for their home. The cameras turn to the animals, flashes catch and fill the window before me and the crowd grows in number and diversity. Men and women, some men look like women, and some women have short, cropped hair with shoes I might have bought. Skateboards stop and pop up, the puppies give an adorable chase. One poops in front of pizzeria entrance, the proprietors aren’t angry, after cleaning the mess the woman behind the counter and a cook are each given a puppy to coddle. Young girls, not quite women, overreact to the whole situation. There is a group of black clad teenage boys, acne spotted, who watch unabashed because the girls are enthralled by the puppies and cannot catch the boys in their vigil. Tattooed twenty-somethings shed the morbid countenance of an artist for a quick smile. Burn-outs have agile fingers that find the spaces behind little ears. Punks, hippies, hipsters, performers, progressives, goths, gays, gangsters, bohemians, rollers, spinners, fliers, all love the puppy show. They all get a pet, a scratch, maybe an embrace before returning their flavors and spices to the city streets. I’m encased with pizza, watching random love on a rare sunny day. When I leave the two are fast asleep in the arms of their owner. The mother with the daughter and the beer makes a funny noise in adoration of the scene. I walk by, and take a left.

alone in big cities


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2 Comments

Apr 30, 2008 - 09:36 AM

marques on
"The Midwest is unmistakable in me" is an unforgettable line.
Apr 30, 2008 - 09:32 AM

marques on
"The Midwest is unmistakable in me"--killer quote.