[continued from previous entry]
Sunday morning: woke up in the wee hours, the first hint of a.m. light diluting the darkness. Outside, for the second morning in a row, mourning doves called softly. A sound of hope.
Found myself conscious for real around 7:30, staggered out of bed to find no one else awake (except the kitties, who slinked about, apparently weighing the idea of mugging me for food). Felt myself jonesing for espresso, pulled on clothes. Looked outside, saw a cold, gray world. Pulled on another layer of clothes. Headed out into the cold and gray, found that winter had reasserted itself, a frigid breeze blowing, the occasional snowflake slanting down. Made the trek along Mass. Ave., collar up, hands buried in jacket pockets, thinking comforting thoughts of warm, caffeinated goodness. Arrived at café, reached for door handle, pulled. Door surprised me by remaining firmly closed. Pulled handle again, more emphatically -- same result. A glance inside showed lights on, figures working behind counter. A scan at the business-hours sign in the window revealed the place remained closed until 8 a.m. on Sundays. Hadn't even occurred to me that the joint wouldn't arrange to be open real damn early to serve barely-conscious clientele like myself (this being the big city and all).
Collected what might laughably be called my wits, glanced at cellphone, saw ten minutes remained until the caffeine palace would allow the rabble in. Continued walking down the Avenue, watching the few cars passing, glancing at store windows. Stopped in front of a record store that had an impressive collection of truly cheesy record covers from decades back. Wrung what entertainment I could from that, turned and looked around at the gray world, shoulders hunched up, breathmist dispersing with the breeze as soon it left nose and mouth.
Headed back to café at the stroke of eight, found myself the first customer there. Ordered, found a table, opened a book, sat reading and sipping, beginning the slow process of rejoining the human race.
Other people began trickling in, my attention wandering between espresso, book, human-watching. At some point -- my head resting on a hand, staring at book with unfocused eyes -- I found myself imagining looking up and seeing someone I knew, an individual I hadn't seen in several years, saw them look over and see me. And knew for a certainty that I was going to see them for real. Looked up from book, saw the place slowly filling with customers and life, looked back down at book. Looked up a 30 seconds later, saw the individual I'd imagined a minute earlier. She turned, saw me, pointed at me with a is that really you? expression. I nodded, she approached, we chatted, the interchange a bit formal -- in part because neither were at full consciousness, in part because she had once been a friend but seemed to take sides when a relationship I'd been in broke up back when. I kept it cordial, we talked, it was fine. She was en route somewhere, left after a few minutes. I watched her go, pondering life's twists and turns.
Back at the flat, I found G.&S. up and doing breakfast stuff. Told them about the encounter at the café, ate a little. Laptops appeared, wifi life got slowly got underway. We talked about Dr. Horrible, that led to snooping around YouTube, watching Christopher Walken dance (S. trying to do her morning crossword, losing concentration as G. and I played and replayed the clip, finally giving up, joining us), watching Christopher Walken sing and dance (there really is nothing like watching Himself lip-sync 'Delilah,' surrounded by dancing cops), watching babes behind bars singing and dancing. Which led me to inflict Buffy The Musical on G.&S. (the morning giving way to afternoon, G. wanting to get active, go out and run, me being the devil on her shoulder, presenting one video temptation after another).
[continued in next entry]
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Evening sky, mid-March -- Vermont:
España, te echo de menos
rws 1:06 PM [+]
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