Colorful covered coffee shop patio. I sit here in a casual August rain. A woman walks in dripping. Oozing negativity. But my mood is quite the opposite. I rather enjoy a good sprinkle. The trees like it too. And the grass and the flowers and the weeds and all the lush green towers. Nature's fluids replenish and the ground smells sweet. Some people pay good money for these rainy sounds piddle-paddling on the roof. I enjoy them for free. It is the type of scene I will miss most when I eventually move on. There are little sparrows fluttering around. This place is God damned magical.
The gentleman in front of me tries to pry something out of his back-most molar with his bare fingers, two knuckles deep. A dog fight breaks out behind me. As I try to find peace, two beasts on a leash try to see who can bark the loudest. The owners of these wild fuckin animals pull them apart, and then one asks their dog what's wrong. My magic kingdom disrupted, I go indoors.
Inside is a wonderful rainbow of liberal stereotypes. Entertaining and annoying at the same time. Lenny Bruce once said, "The liberals can understand everything but people who don't understand them." A bearded one walks in to peruse the recycling bin. Sometimes he gets "lucky" and finds the New York Times, he proclaims to another patron. Apparently he is jonesing for a good crossword puzzle (his words). I chose the unfortunate location of waste-area adjacent.
Fundamentally, I'm as liberal as they come. Politically, I don't vote. Politics is a fools game. I'm an artist. I mind my own business. My brain operates with child-like confusion and merriment. Unable to take anything seriously. I'm a wallflower. A constant observer. I regurgitate my surroundings after careful pondering in a creative and thought provoking manner (mostly on Facebook).
This coffee shop has selected music that can only be described as industrial-tribal. It's like Trent Reznor collaborated with one of those isolated jungle tribes. The goth kids across the room visibly love it.
Rainbow hair and giant plug earrings.
Cowboy fringes and hooker laces.
Teenage fashion is exhausting.
I bleached my hair a wonderful cartoon yellow when I was in high school. I was in my Eminem phase. Sixteen year old boys really identify with that man. As I think about those responsibility-less glory days, the rain lets up and the sun comes out. I should probably leave. That girl with the face tattoo is really pulling it off.